


Hunted

by Vozana666



Category: Dexter (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, F/M, Kinky, M/M, Multi, Serial Killer, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 36,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4680251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vozana666/pseuds/Vozana666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dexter Morgan never thought he would have to fear a hit man coming after him. It's even worse when he doesn't know who it is. Who will survive?</p><p>(I'm really terrible at summaries I apologise. I don't want to give too much away.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Hunted

 

 

Prologue

 

 

“He’s a, s-serial killer,” the man stuttered, wiping sweat off of his bald forehead with a handkerchief. It was quite chilly in the room – he was sweating from nervousness. He had never done anything like this before and he didn’t know whether he would quite get away from it. But he had heard from his cousin, Frankie that this was the best man to go to. That this was the best man to talk to about seeking revenge, without getting your hands dirty. He didn’t know what made this man so terrifying. He was average height, on the tall average side, thin, and he looked young, he was in his early twenties at the most – so it didn’t make sense to him that this man was the best of the best. In fact, at his age, fifty seven, it was embarrassing to be asking someone who was practically a child to help him in such a dark matter.

 

“How do you know he’s a serial killer?” the other man asked, “normally when a serial killer is known by face and name, it’s because they’ve been caught.

 

“He killed my father,” the man said, wiping his forehead again.

 

“Okay,” the other man said slowly, “why?”

 

The man shrugged, “I don’t bloody know, now, do I?!” he exclaimed, “he killed my father and I want the man dead!” he sighed and sat back in his chair, “it’s what he would have wanted.”

 

There was a pause and the man held his breath, not daring to speak. This was obviously the deciding period that Frankie had warned him about, where he shouldn’t utter a single sound; otherwise the other man would completely refuse his offer. It struck him suddenly that he didn’t even know this other man’s name. The only reference he knew of him is what they called him out on the streets; Asesino. It sounded better in Spanish but in English it was purely; Killer. It was blunt, not easy to describe. It didn’t tell you much - which apparently fit this man’s persona perfectly.

 

Asesino sucked in a breath and sighed, “I’m sure you’ve heard I’m quite good at what I do,” he said, “but I can’t get too far with what I’m planning without a name and a few minor details Lucas.”

 

Lucas sighed, relief flooding through him, “oh, yes, yes of course,” he stammered, “the man’s name-.”

 

“I don’t really have the time to chat,” Asesino said, he handed Lucas a sheet of paper, the expression on his face never changing, “just write down all the details there. I’ll read it and burn it later if need be.”

 

“What about payment?” Lucas asked, “How much will I owe you?”

 

Asesino smiled, making Lucas shudder. On another young man, the smile might have been attractive, even charming. But on Asesino, it was enough to make your blood turn cold.

 

“Depends on how hard he is to kill,” he said, straightening up his black suit and the red tie hanging from his neck, “now, fill out the sheet.”

 

Lucas didn’t like the quiet as he began to fill out the details, he tried to make small talk, “is that a British accent I detect?”

 

“Now-”

 

“Just curious to how you found your way to Miami.”

 

He heard a click and he looked up - the barrel of a gun pointing straight at his head.

 

“I don’t normally use guns,” Asesino said darkly, “but I’m willing to use one against those who pry.”

 

Lucas tried to make a response, new sweat beginning to form on his forehead. But his nervous reaction to the gun seemed to be enough for Asesino, because he put the gun on the desk between them and motioned for Lucas to continue on with the paperwork in front of them.

 

“Do you have any more questions?” Asesino asked coldly, “though I’m sure you already know the answer.”

 

“Yes sir,” the man mumbled, embarrassed once more to be acting like this around someone much younger than him.

 

It didn’t take him long to fill out the sheet. There wasn’t much he knew about the man, other than a name and his day job. He put the sheet on Asesino’s desk and made to exit.

 

“Dexter Morgan,” Asesino said loudly.

 

“Do you know him?” Lucas asked, his eyes widening.

 

Asesino shook his head, stashing the piece of paper in a small folder before placing it in a filing cabinet behind him, “not yet,” was all he said.

 

Lucas felt it was definitely his cue to leave. He turned back towards the door and rushed out of the room, feeling his skin crawl. Who knew someone so normal looking could be so... _creepy_?

 

Lucas knew, then and there, that some of the biggest monsters hid in plain sight - including the man who had killed his father two months ago. He smirked; finally, Dexter Morgan would have what was coming to him.

 

Any price was worth being able to sleep at night, knowing that his revenge had been served.


	2. Chapter One

Hunted

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

Harry stared at the mirror in front of him, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes before grabbing the razor before him and lathering shaving foam onto his face, slowly shaving off the tiny hairs that had grown around his mouth. If he didn’t shave soon, he would probably have a beard the length of Dumbledore’s.

 

He heard slow tip-toeing from behind him and looked up into the mirror just in time to see a blonde girl behind him wrap her arms around him, her naked breasts pressed up against his bare back.

 

“You shouldn’t shave,” she said, kissing the back of his neck.

 

“Why?” he asked, continuing the shave a little above his lip.

 

“You look like a child,” she said, “Nobody will take you seriously when you say you’re twenty five.”

 

Harry put the razor down and sighed, frustrated. She was probably right. People barely took him seriously now – he knew he looked a little young to be a professional hit man. Not that the blonde girl knew that, whatever her name was.

 

There was a gasp behind him and he looked up, noticing that everything he had shaved off had grown back while he had been deep in thought. He sighed and grabbed a towel, rubbing the foam off of his face before turning back towards the blonde who was looking at him with shock.

 

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Harry said with a small sheepish smile.

 

He coaxed her slowly back to his bed. She looked a little panicked but did as he told her calmly to do. When they were finally sitting on the edge of the bed, he kissed her softly, his hands running themselves down her naked back. He pulled away, the blonde now a giggling mess, her hands in his hair.

 

“Obliviate”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry had to admit he had made a lot of money from being a professional hit man. He didn’t think it would ever be anything he’d do – after Voldemort and all the drama and war that came with his megalomaniac ways. But, after the war, something dark had stirred inside of him. It had made things difficult when trying to act normal. It made nights a lot harder to sleep through. It had made life generally a lot difficult until he’d found an outlet. Even then it had been difficult – first it had started out clean. An Avada Kedavra here and there after people got let out of prison, or a few ex Death Eaters who had decided to live muggle lives.

 

Then, it started getting bloodier.

 

He didn’t know when it had happened – what inside him had changed, but the need to make people bleed, suffer, became more apparent. Something had clicked, and now, he was worse than Voldemort. He knew that. Voldemort had been tidier. Harry now resorted to the muggle way of things, bloody, but cleaned it all up magically so he wouldn’t get caught.

 

This had been going on for the last few years. It had started getting bloodier once he had moved to Miami – where the crime rate was higher and in the sunny daylight of Miami you could find the most brutal of murders.

 

Harry, of course, was never in on that action. It would be too ironic - a detective or forensic scientist turning out to be a serial killer? Please. If he was going to be caught, he didn’t want to be some joke or cruel irony. That wasn’t how he wanted to be remembered.

 

As far as the government knew, Harry had no job and was simply living off of some rich, generous relative. It was easy when you could buy another house and physically change yourself into some stranger from the street and pretend to be said rich relative when people started asking questions and came knocking on doors, looking for answers.

 

Harry lay down on the bed and sighed. One thing he would never be able to get over was how lonely he felt. He couldn’t be with anyone – not in this situation. He had come to accept that. He’d have one night stands, threesomes, hell even an orgy once. Men, women, he didn’t care. But at the end of the night they would have no recollection of what had happened. They wouldn’t remember his name, or his face. They wouldn’t know who he was. And he would go back to bed, and lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for someone to call his other phone – asking for him to get rid of a special certain someone who was being a pain in the arse.

 

And that was how everyday went; sex, sex, sex, alcohol, sex, sex, loneliness, sex, murder.

 

And he hated every fucking minute of it – but that was how life was.

 

That was how he had to live it.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

 

Dexter Morgan sat in his chair in his lab at Miami Metro Homicide, looking through the microscope at multiple different fibres and hairs. At the latest crime scene, the person hadn’t exactly cleaned up nicely. It was like they wanted to be caught – they may as well just walk into the middle of the room and shout loudly, ‘I DID IT. I KILLED THEM!’

 

Them being three little kids, Xander, Philip and Joseph – triplet boys who had gone missing close to three months ago. Their bodies had been found in a river in a park relatively close to the Miami Metro building. It hadn’t been hard to bring their bodies back to the morgue to be identified by the parents of the three children.

 

Dexter couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child – he personally had never had any of his own, but he liked them. They were innocent. They were admittedly annoying, but not in the way adults were. Children were different. He could never hurt a child like this person had. He didn’t have any reason to and he didn’t think he ever would. If a child turned out to be anything like the people he had killed in the past, he could simply teach them Harry’s Code. Children could be taught – adults? Not so much. Adults were animals.

 

“Got a hit?”

 

Dexter turned around to find Vince Masuoka standing in the doorway, his bespectacled peering at him expectantly.

 

“Yes, Roger Rabbit,” he muttered, turning back to the microscope.

 

“If that’s the case the sequel to Who Framed Roger Rabbit is going to be _much_ darker,” Vince said, “Creepypasta dark.”

 

Dexter frowned, “Creepypasta?” Dexter asked, turning back to look at Vince with a confused expression on his face.

 

“Nothing,” Vince shook his head, “so, seriously, nothing?”

 

“Not yet,” Dexter muttered, “give it time.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

 

Harry sat in a little dingy room...tied up to a chair. Unfortunately, this wasn’t some kinky scenario.

 

Someone wasn’t too happy with the amount of money they had to pay for a certain great Uncle to be killed in order for them to earn billions from the man’s will. Harry had simply asked for a meagre two hundred grand from the man and nothing more. But Victor Woodley hadn’t found it such a great deal.

 

“I think the price was quite fair in my honest opinion,” Harry said lightly, “I mean, your great Uncle had guard dogs and security cameras everywhere. You have no idea how difficult it was to keep the dogs calm, erase the footage, and make sure your great Uncle got nowhere near a phone,” he said, “which, he had about seven billion of them so it wasn’t exactly fucking easy.”

 

“Two hundred grand is a bit much,” the man muttered. He was carrying a gun. Flinging it around like he didn’t have a care in the world, “but it’s fine – I’m about the kill one of the biggest hit men in this country. Imagine – I could get all the money I wanted then.”

 

“May I ask, how?” Harry asked, sounding tired, “no, really, I’m intrigued, pray tell how you’re going to get all my money once I’m dead seeing as I don’t keep any physical cash on me.”

 

Victor paused.

 

“Yes,” Harry said, “that’s right. I do not carry physical cash with me. I don’t have a vault stacked with money, I don’t have anything like that,” he said, “I just use a card for everything.”

 

Victor’s stance changed and he pointed the gun straight at Harry’s forehead, “tell me your codes and your bank account info, otherwise I’ll shoot you in the head.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, “C’mon, really?” he asked, “If I give you my info, you shoot me in the head. What’s the point of keeping me around once you have all the money you could possibly need?” he asked, “and if I don’t give it to you, you shoot me in the head and you live off of your great Uncle’s billions and not a cent of mine,” he paused, “like you need even more money you selfish prick.”

 

Harry saw Victor’s finger press down on the trigger and Harry only had a brief second to swing his chair to the side before the bullet entered his skull. He succeeded, without earning himself any injuries other than a few broken fingers from where his fingers had gotten stuck between the wood of the chair and the asphalt of the dingy room. He screamed out loud before directing a hand towards Victor, screaming out the killing curse and watching the angry man’s face turn into shock, before he fell to the ground.

 

Harry muttered another spell; the rope was cut neatly in two halves. He stood up, looking at his bent fingers - he grit his teeth before moving over to Victor and giving the man a good kick in the stomach, “asshole,” he muttered before grabbing the man’s gun and shooting him in the head.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, just a small chapter to get back into writing this fanfiction. I'm starting to get back into my fanfictions again now that I have an external keyboard that works, because the other one kept glitching and deleting things and moving text around and it was just too frustrating to write anything - so, sorry for the late update. But despite this chapter being small I hope it's interesting enough for you to want to continue reading. Enjoy!

Hunted

  
Chapter Two

 

 

  
“So, his name was Victor Bryce,” Angel Batista murmured under his breath, “his Uncle was murdered recently –– I guess the guy who killed them is going after the family,” he stood up, wiping dirt off of his pants and looking at Dexter and Masuoka who stood behind him, “they’re a pretty rich family so there’s your motive.”

 

Masuoka frowned, “how many more members are there?” he asked, “and are they all rich?”

 

“There’s no more,” Angel sighed, “so it’s not like we can get the killer by waiting for him at the next relatives house,” he looked around, “he’s an only child, and his mother lost her sister from cancer when she was eight – as for the father – only one brother – Victor’s Uncle Richard,” he frowned, “there’s a disturbing lack of evidence around here.”

 

Dexter sighed, “You’re sure?” he asked, “There have been a lot of cases recently with a disturbing lack of evidence. Our fail rate is catching up with our success rate.”

 

Angel shrugged, “I’m sorry Dex - I don’t know what else to tell you other than to have a look around for yourself.”

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry sat in the kitchen of his home sipping a hot cup of coffee, the burning sensation on his tongue wasn’t necessarily considered negative to him. He enjoyed it. He was feeling something. That was what he wanted, right? The woman in front of him bustled around and cleaned, which bothered Harry slightly. The maid, turns out, came with the house and he had had no choice but to let her stay. She liked to clean even if Harry told her repeatedly not to - that he could do it himself. But she refused. And now he watched the old Hispanic woman walking around dusting shelves and straightening objects around the place. Though, Harry had to admit, it was somewhat nice to have the company - especially seeing as the woman didn’t ask any questions.

 

The phone in Harry’s pocket rang and he looked down at the number and was relived to find that it wasn’t his ‘work’ phone. It was Hermione calling from her muggle phone that she had been adamant her and Ron should own. Something about teaching Ron more about the muggle world and being able to have extra security had been Hermione’s argument.

 

“Hey Hermione-.”

 

“We’re coming over,” Hermione said in a stern voice, effectively cutting him off. Harry almost spat out his coffee - the burn in his mouth was no longer a present sensation, now just an uncomfortable painful one.

 

“Pardon?” Harry said with a gasp as he attempted to grab a napkin and try and get some of the hot coffee off of his clothes.

 

“We’re coming over.”

 

Harry turned around, realizing that this time the voice didn’t come from his phone. There was Hermione and Ron walking through the front door of his home, looking both equally annoyed and concerned. The maid, having let them in the house, stalked off, knowing that Harry wouldn’t be pleased.

 

“What the fuck guys,” Harry muttered, pressing the end call button on his phone, “I-.”

 

“I know, you didn’t invite us over,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

 

“But we haven’t seen you in months mate,” Ron said sheepishly, “you’ve been holed up here, not contacting anyone, and whenever we call your maid answers the phone and tells us you’re working,” he looks around the place for the first time and his eyes widened noticeably, “what do you even do for a living anyway?”

 

“I’m sorry you haven’t seen me in months,” Harry said, biting the inside of his cheek, surprisingly feeling some small amount of guilt. There was an awkward silence after that and Harry had no idea what to say or do - he felt like a child again, being berated by the parents he never actually had.

 

“Would you guys like to stay here for a little while?” Harry asked, biting his lip nervously, “there’s…ah…plenty of spare rooms,” he said. Trying to say that in a normal way and not point out how massive the house was. Hermione seemed to ignore this but Ron started walking around the kitchen and dining room, making small little comments here and there about how could one small person need so much room.

 

“You’re just saying that because we’re here,” Hermione said, “you would have never offered otherwise.”

 

“And so you’re going to go back to England and ignore my offer when I was trying to be nice to you - simply to prove a point?” Harry asked, cocking up a brow, “are you really going to do this to me?”

 

Hermione frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, which in Harry’s case was a good sign.

 

“Fine,” she said, in a final tone, “we’re going to stay here for a month.”

 

If Harry had had coffee in his mouth he was sure it would have ended up down his shirt again, “a _month_?” he sputtered, “but uh…what about your jobs?” he asked, hoping to spark some form of realization into Hermione. Ron and Hermione were both very serious about their jobs, which wasn’t all the surprising for Hermione but definitely was for surprising for Ron. They both worked at the ministry. Ron as an Auror and Hermione as the Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

 

“Apparation Harry,” Ron muttered, “have you been spending so much time with muggles that you’ve forgotten?” he asked with a small smirk.

 

 _Crap_ , Harry thought, that had been his last chance to get them to leave.

 

“Besides,” Ron continued, “I’ve been pushed to work around this area with a couple of other Aurors anyway,” Ron said, looking a little morose as he said it.

 

Harry frowned, “Really?” he could feel his heart beat increasing in speed, his palms getting sweaty, “why?”

 

Hermione sighed, “do you even get the Daily Prophet sent here anymore? There’s been a case going on for ages, talking about some wizard or witch who’s been running amok up here. Keeps killing random muggles with both magical and muggle means - they say that it could be the second coming of Voldemort,” she rolled her eyes, “which is stupid - there is definitely no way that man is coming back to life a second time.”

 

Harry was quite listening, his felt dizzy and almost like he wanted to throw up. They knew.

 

 _They’d found him_.

 

He dropped his coffee mug still filled with small amount of coffee and shards of the mug and coffee went all over the floor.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay another chapter and stuff is starting to happen and yay!
> 
> I'm going to try and write a lot tonight, I say that all the time, but yeah, I'm gonna try. Wish me luck. And send me coffee x

Hunted

  
Chapter Three

 

 

Dexter groaned as he woke up. He hadn’t really slept that well. It had been a while since he had slept well - ever since these cases had started appearing left right and center. It did his head in - he wasn’t ashamed to admit that. It was driving him insane. He just didn’t know where to look, who to look at, etc. How could there just be magically no goddamn evidence. Surely this guy should have screwed up by now?

 

Normally by now the culprit should have gotten overconfident in their work and screwed up - that’s normally when you’d catch a mastermind like this. But,this disproved everything Dexter knew about psychopaths and it made him feel uneasy, which would explain how terribly he slept.

 

He took his time getting up that morning, seeing as he woke up at five am rather than his usual six am start to the morning. He took his time in the shower, not really washing himself but spending more time than he should be on the case.

 

Nothing made sense.

 

 

  
(***)

 

  
Harry didn’t want to wake up that morning.

 

He felt like a pathetic child that had been grounded by his parents for staying out too late the night before and didn’t want to face them now for fear of making them angrier once more just by forcing them to endure his existence. Ron and Hermione had let him know how hurt they were all of last night, even after they’d had the long conversation after they arrived without invitation. Through-out dinner Hermione would make little quips saying things like, “you would have known if you hadn’t disappeared,” “I’m sorry I should have told you, I forgot,” etc.

 

Then, after all of that, Hermione felt the need to comment, after all the hours she’d been there, on the house.

 

“What do you do for a living to get a house like this?” she asked, looking around the house as if, even after the amount of time she had been here, she was just seeing it for the first time. It was a repeat of Ron’s question from earlier and Harry couldn’t really dodge it this time.

 

“I’m a journalist,” Harry lied, “I work at home majority of the time.”

 

Hermione frowned, “I would never have imagined you becoming a journalist,” she said, showing Harry just how much she believed him - which appeared to be very little.

 

“Yeah well, things change,” Harry said, putting a little bit of force into his words, trying to show he wasn’t just talking about his fake career in journalism, but their whole situation, “people change.”

 

If Hermione had picked it up, she didn’t show it.

 

Harry sighed, knowing he would have to get up eventually, otherwise all Hermione and Ron would do was break down his bedroom door anyway. He went straight to his bathroom and took a shower, enjoying how the water hit his back - however his shower was cut short due to a phone call.

 

From his work phone.

 

Harry got out as fast as he could without accidentally breaking his neck and wrapped a towel around his waist before he answered the call.

 

“Speaking?” he asked, trying to sound calm and not like he’d just gotten out of the shower. Though the echo around the bathroom didn’t really help.

 

“ _Asesino_?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, “no, that’s me. Who are you?”

 

 

  
(***)

 

 

  
He had successfully been able to get out of the house with Hermione and Ron attacking him and tying him to a chair, but that didn’t stop the spamming of text messages gathering on his phone. He ignored them, but continued to feel the vibration in his pocket, however, it was oddly soothing. Knowing that somebody cared.

 

He sat behind his desk and was almost tempted to put his feet up and light a cigar - any new type of intimidation tactic was always amusing to him. But he couldn’t be bothered. So, instead, he got out an empty manila folder and opened it up, ready to go.

 

He disguised majority of his features before the person walked into the room - it was imperative that not even his clients knew who he really was. Who knew who was really walking into the room. Lucas wanting a hit on someone or an FBI agent searching for him? Who knew.

 

The man who walked in was…Lucas.

 

“Are you serious?” Harry asked, frowning, hoping that his disguise was the same as the last time he saw Lucas, otherwise some serious questions would arise, “you told me your name was Matthew.”

 

“I didn’t think you would see me again if you knew it was me making sure you were keeping up your end on our bargain,” Lucas said, sitting down. He looked up, with a little more confidence than he showed the other day and frowned, “did you cut your hair?”

 

“Sure,” Harry said, throwing this comment aside like it didn’t matter, what mattered was that the guy had to come in to see whether or not Harry would keep up his side of the deal.

 

“So, you’re seriously coming in to check whether or not I’ve done anything new,” Harry said with a small smirk, “what do you think? I’ve already killed him and his body is sitting in my freezer?”

 

“Well I don’t know how fast you work!” Lucas says, sounding furious, “and I have no idea what your success rate is either!”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, it was always about the success rates.

 

“I’ll have you know I’ve never discussed my success rate is because I have no failures to compare it to. If I literally said that my success rate is 100% how many people would actually believe me?” Harry asked him, trying not to sound defensive, “besides - it sounds ridiculously cheesy.”

 

 

  
(***)

 

 

  
“They found another body in the middle of a park,” Batista says. His expression made him look like he was inwardly groaning, “everyone already on the scene thinks it’s the same guy.”

 

“Identified the body yet?” Dexter asked, shutting his laptop and grabbing his forensics kit from underneath his desk. He, as he had been told by many people today, looked tired - and damn did he feel it.

 

“Lucas Monstrano - otherwise known as Lucas Bell or Lucas Henry James.”

 

“Fake IDs?” Dexter asked.

 

“Yep, but he always kept the same first name,” Batista shrugged, “surprised he never got caught with them.”

 

  
(***)

 

Lucas’s body was slumped over a park bench, blood that had previously come from his neck and started to spray down his face was now dried and cracking over him, like a weird sort of beauty mask. Dexter did as he was told and took photos of the scene and then tried to find any kind of obvious evidence, then looked for evidence that might be hiding. Either way, there was nothing be found on the crime scene, once again.

 

“The only thing we know was that he wasn’t killed here,” said Masuoka, pointing at the noticeable lack of blood on the gravel pathway around the park, “otherwise, we have nothing.”

 

Batista looked like he was going to throw a hissy fit then and there. And then someone broke through the crowd of onlookers and ran towards them. A police officer grabbed the man and he screamed, “I know something!”

 

The two slowly becoming three police officers that had grabbed him hastily let go despite not being told to do so, and the man walked up to Batista, “I know something about this man’s murder - I would like to help.”

 

The man was tall and blonde, no one Dexter had ever seen in Miami - and he would normally feel a little twang of familiarity with most people’s face - but this reminded him of no one.

 

“Is there anyone here named Dexter Morgan?” the man asked. He was holding a letter in his hand and was reading the name out, as if he was scared of mispronouncing it - like some foreign name. Dexter walked forward slowly.

 

“Letter for you,” the blonde man said, handing him the letter, “you’ve been advised to not open it until you get home.”

 

Dexter frowned, but shoved the letter in his pocket anyway.

 

Batista watched the interaction but didn’t say anything about it.

 

“You have information?” Batista asked, turning to the blonde man with a small frown on his face.

 

“Indeed, I do,” he said, “I saw a very tan man with brown hair carry the body here,” he said, “he was about six foot five and he was wearing a light purple-ish type shirt and jeans.”

 

“Is that all?” Batista asked, his eyes searching the other man’s expression, seeing if there was any trace of a lie. If there was, the blonde man hid it well.

 

“That’s all.”

 

After the information he gave he was escorted back behind the yellow tape and asked for his information in case they needed to ask any more questions. There was no hesitation when he was asked for his details and then, the blonde man walked away.

 

“Dexter, what about that letter?” Batista asked, frowning, “do you think it contains evidence?”

 

Dexter shrugged. For some reason the letter felt heavy in his pocket, “if it does, I’ll let you know.”

 

 

(***)

 

 

The first thing Dexter did when he got home was go for a nap. He had been exhausted all day and it had definitely been a long one. They now had three new cases and only one of them was connected to the biggest one they had going on about it. No evidence man, or whatever the media was calling him - either way the name was terrible.

 

When Dexter woke up, he felt much better, and made himself coffee and grabbed his laptop. As soon as he had everything set in front of him and was about to start doing some form of research which might help him with the case, he remembered the letter in the pocket of his pants.

 

He went back into his room and retrieved the letter and sat on the couch before opening the letter.

 

It was just a small slip of paper, about the size of a business card really, and all it said was;

 

_~_  
_I know who you are_  
_I’m coming for you_  
_Dexter Morgan_  
_~_


	5. Chapter Four

Hunted

 

Chapter Four

 

 

Sleep that night for Dexter was sparse. The little note that had been left for him in his apartment had admittedly startled him. He had been tossing and turning all night and couldn’t get the moment when he had picked up that little piece of paper out of his head. It haunted him. It haunted him not knowing who was trying to hurt him – he hadn’t made any enemies lately. He was too good at his job to have many enemies and if he ever did make any before long they were dead in some way or another.

 

So the fact that someone was out there, knew who he was, was… _new_. Something that Dexter wasn’t really all that big a fan of.

 

At five in the morning Dexter decided it was finally time to give up on even _attempting_ sleeping because it just wasn’t working out for him. He got out of bed, went for a shower in an attempt to make him feel more alive than he felt, and then went and made himself coffee.

 

It was still two hours before he had to go to work and he had no idea what he was going to do in the meantime. There was nothing on TV and he felt himself constantly drifting into a place of being half asleep – but not enough for him to lie down and just have a small power nap.

 

He was actually contemplating calling in sick for the day. Something he liked to avoid just in case he needed to take a day off for more…private reasons.

 

In the end, he ended up going to work figuring he could probably use the distraction, because if he called in sick he couldn’t really guarantee that he would go to sleep.

 

But everyone definitely noticed that Dexter hadn’t slept well the night before.

 

“Are you alright, Dex?” Masuoka asked, almost looking genuinely concerned for a moment before asking, “Did you get lucky last night? Was she freaky?”

 

“Please just do everyone a favour and shut up,” Dexter asked in the middle of a yawn, causing Masuoka to laugh his irritating little seedy laugh before walking away back to his own little corner lab, back to whatever crime they were trying to solve – Dexter was so sleep deprived he couldn’t even remember.

 

Dexter could feel himself drifting off slightly – he felt like he was floating, that the world had no consequences, and then he felt his shoulder being shaken harshly. He looked up to see Deb glaring down at him.

 

“We had a meeting and you completely missed it,” Deb said, seeming grouchier than her usual self, “what the fuck Dex?”

 

Dexter sighed and looked around, people were back to working though he could see the occasional detective look his way. Good ol’ Morgan family drama was always a source of entertainment in Miami Metro Homicide.

 

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Dexter said, “well, that’s an understatement – I haven’t been sleeping well lately but last night I didn’t sleep at all.”

 

Deb looked outraged, “and yet you drove to work – _while_ sleep deprived?!”

 

Dexter hadn’t thought of that.

 

“I’m…sorry?” Dexter asked, trying to sound apologetic, but he just wanted to go to sleep.

 

“I’m driving you home, and you’re going to get some sleep,” Deb said, sounding like there was definitely no way of getting out of this arrangement, “and you’re not coming back to work until you’ve gotten at least a good eight hours.”

 

“And how do you know I won’t just be lying to you so I can come back to work,” Dexter asked, getting out of his seat and picking up his laptop bag.

 

“Because I know you,” Deb said, “now come on.”

 

Dexter followed her out of the room and couldn’t help but think that she didn’t know him well enough.

 

 

(***)

 

 

Dexter was pretty sure the only reason he even fell asleep was due to sleep deprivation. If it hadn’t been for that he still would have been tossing and turning. 

 

He woke up at one in the morning, feeling like he had slept for about a hundred years. He got up and made himself coffee but other than had no idea what to do. He had left the files about the case on his desk at work – not thinking straight.

 

He lay down on the couch and starred at the ceiling, hoping that he would get so bored he would just fall back to sleep without even realising it.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Finding out information about Dexter Morgan wasn’t easy. He was a closed up man, but according to Lucas, he had his reasons for it. Being a serial killer was definitely a reason to keep yourself all closed up.

 

Harry wondered what made you a potential next victim of Dexter Morgan’s. What made you stand out in the crowd so that he would take you and kill you without anybody noticing your disappearance? Gone from the world forever - in just a few spare moments! Another name on Dexter Morgan’s list of victims... What made you so special that he would pay attention to you in particular?

 

Every killer had a type. Prostitutes or blondes or even blonde prostitutes - what was Dexter’s type?

 

He was just thinking up a few ideas when his phone rang. He looked at it and realised it was his work phone. An odd feeling of dread spread through him, and he frowned. But he grabbed the phone either way and put it to his ear.

 

“Speaking?” Harry asked, trying not to sound irritated.

 

“Is this Asesino?” the person on the other end of the line said slowly. He realised that the voice belonged to a female.

 

“You would be correct,” Harry said, “speaking?”

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

 

“His name is Dexter Morgan,” the woman, named Violet told Harry. One leg was crossed over the other. She was wearing a short dress that sat around her thighs, stilettos and red lipstick that contrasted nicely against her skin. Originally Harry probably would have guessed she was a high end prostitute. But when she heard the woman’s last name – even Harry knew that she was from one of Miami’s most prestigious families. They had been all over the news only a few months ago when her father had gone to jail for the murder of a five year old girl – only to be released due to a disturbing lack of evidence. Then – he had gone missing.

 

“Dexter Morgan,” Harry said slowly. The name had started feeling familiar on his tongue. It made him so uncomfortable to get so familiar with a name. Dexter should have been dead by now.

 

“You know him?” Violet asked, looking at Harry curiously.

 

“You’re the second person to order his assassination,” Harry said with a small frown, “why do you want him gone so badly?”

 

“Because it took me so long to find him,” Violet said, sounding defensive, “plus – I’m convinced he murdered my father.”  


“A lot of people could have murdered your father,” Harry said, “he wasn’t exactly popular in the end.

 

He heard a sharp intake of breath and he turned back to look at Violet, who to say the least looked offended.

 

“You know, I could hire someone else to do the job,” Violet said, “They’d do it for cheaper as well.”

 

“How would you know?” Harry asked, “I haven’t even named my price,” he sat down in his chair again and looked at the files on the desk. All photos of the same man he had met at the crime scene - where he had left the body in the park. Violet had obviously been tracking the man for a very long time. Maybe hired someone to track him, but it hadn’t been in their job description to assassinate.

 

“I make you pay according to how hard he is to kill,” Harry said, “though this is the first time I’ve ever had two people ask me to kill the same person so this should definitely be an interesting payment.”

 

Violet glared at him, but Harry didn’t flinch.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

It was later that night while Harry was looking through all the information Lucas had given him that he saw Lucas’s fathers name. It was in small text that Harry had probably only skimmed over before, disregarding it as unimportant. He had a terrible habit of doing that – and sometimes it cost him dearly. He grabbed his laptop and searched the name on Google and was surprised at all the links he found - court cases dating back to two years ago – the man being allowed freedom after raping and murdering three teenage girls and one boy. Somehow he had gotten out on a technicality. Some fault in the paperwork.

 

Harry frowned. Lucas and Violet were pretty convinced that Dexter Morgan had murdered their fathers. And Harry highly doubted that infamous father’s were Dexter’s ‘thing.’

 

So if that wasn’t the case...

 

Dexter Morgan was killing other criminals.

 

Dexter Morgan was killing other killers.

 

Harry bit his lip, a nervous trait he had been sure he had ditched until a few weeks ago.

 

He and Dexter weren’t all that different.

 

This job just got a whole lot more complicated.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> I know it's been a long time since I've posted an update for this fanfiction. Unfortunately mental health issues got the best of me and of course there has been a few laptop issues as well. I'm currently trying to save up for a new laptop and get my life back on track, and so I bring you a new chapter of this fanfiction.
> 
> I told you guys I would never leave a fanfiction uncomplete, and I plan on keeping that promise.

Chapter Five

 

 

The next morning, Harry was up and ready for the day without a moments hesitation. He was too, well, the only word he could really think of for how he felt was; excited.

 

The person he had been ordered to kill was a killer of killers. The sentence in itself sounded odd, and he found it amusing yet interesting that two people had ordered the mans’ assassination (although, one of those people were now dead simply for annoying Harry with his demands, of course, Violet didn’t know that).

 

He turned towards the bed now where Violet now slept and Harry could feel himself smirking. He had made it an unspoken deal with himself to never sleep with clients, but this one had been too hard to resist. She’d had a danger fetish – she had liked being spanked and strangled until she had turned a very light purple, and Harry had been happy enough to oblige.

 

But naturally, of course, once she woke up he would have to erase her memory to the point where she had gone to leave his office the night before – and that would be that – she would be none the wiser of what had happened between them.

 

“Mmm…Asesino?”

 

Harry sighed, show time.

 

 

(***)

 

 

Dexter, despite his better judgement, called in sick the next day. Even if he didn’t stay at home and sleep it off, he could at least go out, get some fresh air, and not have to stress too much about work.

 

He found that after calling in sick and trying to get back to sleep for the next half an hour, he simply couldn’t. His eyes refused to stay shut long enough and his mind refused to shut up. So instead, he went for a quick shower and instead of heading to the kitchen to make himself a coffee, he went to the kitchen, grabbed his keys, and left his apartment in order to get some coffee and breakfast.

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry had been sad to watch Violet go. It had been simple, getting rid of her. He had taken her out onto the busy Miami street, obliviated her quietly and then walked past her, as if she was simply an annoying pedestrian that had stopped dead in the middle of the street. He had turned a corner and watched her face fill with shock and confusion, like she had just woken up there in the middle of the street, which in a way – she had. She turned around a few times, trying to figure out where she was, then called herself a cab.

 

Harry watched as she was taken away by a Puerto Rican cab driver in the famous yellow cab, feeling something almost close to loss. Not because he had particularly liked Violet, she was hot – sure, but to be honest the woman was a bitch.

 

No, he was just lonely again.

 

He turned around and looked across the street – there was a café right across for him.

 

A little bit of breakfast wouldn’t hurt before he went back to his place.

 

(***)

 

 

The place was packed. As Harry walked in some of the few places left available to sit were filling up fast. He looked around, hoping against hope that where would be some seat available, and it turned out he was in luck.

 

Double luck.

 

There was Dexter Morgan sitting in a booth eating bacon and eggs and sipping slowly on coffee – the man looked like shit, Harry wasn’t going to deny it, but there was still something about the man that Harry, undeniably, found attractive.

 

What a shame there was the fact that he had to kill him looming over his head.

 

He headed towards the booth where Dexter was eating, reading a newspaper that always sat at the end of the table of the booth – sometimes places like this replaced the papers daily, other times they wouldn’t replace them for weeks and people would have to be left reading the same news stories over and over.

 

“Hey,” Harry said loudly over the noise of people chattering cheerfully to work colleagues, partners and friends, “you mind if I sit here? The place is kind of full.”

 

There was a dark glint in Dexter’s eye that told Harry that Dexter wanted nothing more than for him to fuck off, but he gave him a tight lipped smile and changed the look in his eyes and nodded, indicating for Harry to sit down.

 

Harry couldn’t help but notice how quickly Dexter changed his posture and facial expression – he obviously had a fair amount of experience in doing that.

 

“Anything interesting in the paper?” Harry asked, grabbing a menu and trying to make some form of conversation.

 

Dexter shrugged, “not really – if you watch the news you would know all about it; it’s last weeks paper.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, “a shame.”

 

A teenage kid who looked like he would prefer to be buried six feet underground than working the morning shift – and with Harry’s current mood he was extremely tempted to help the teen indulge in that fantasy – came up to their booth and asked Harry what he would like to order. Harry in the end, ended up ordering pretty much the same thing as Dexter, except he changed the latte to a cappuccino with three sugars.

 

Dexter didn’t say a word about Harry’s order, but Harry thought he could see a small look of disgust from the corner of his eye.

 

He turned back around to face the older man.

 

“You look like death,” Harry said, “hard night on the liquor?”

 

Dexter looked up at him, both surprised and seemingly irritated that Harry was talking to him. Yet, despite this, he shook his head no.

 

“I thought you were ordering the eggs and bacon for a hangover cure,” Harry said, smiling, “I know that I definitely am,” he lied. He’d had a few drinks last night with Violet, which is how they had both ended up in his bed, but otherwise it hadn’t been enough for him to get completely shit faced.

 

“And yet you seem so happy and pleasant,” Dexter muttered – Harry could barely hear him over the chatter, “I thought hungover people were supposed to be grumpy and quiet.”

 

“Different with every person,” Harry retaliated.

 

Dexter shrugged and went back to reading the paper.

 

“Well,” Harry said, wiping a napkin over his spot on the table – picking up several droplets of liquid whilst doing so, “if you’re not suffering from a hangover or from a late shift – why aren’t you at work this morning?”

 

Dexter frowned, “how do you know I’m employed?”

 

Harry smirked, “well unless you have yourself a sugar daddy, then you’ll notice that the food here, including the eggs and bacon you’re currently eating – is really quite expensive.”

 

Dexter snorted, “has our five minute ‘friendship’ really progressed to the point where we can talk about sugar daddies in public?” Dexter jokingly asked, putting air quotes around the word _friendship_.

 

“Oh good, we’re friends-.”

 

Dexter added emphasis by over exaggerating another set of air quotes.

 

“I was just trying to make conversation,” Harry said, “with all the work I’ve been doing lately, I don’t get much conversation and when I do it’s never particularly any good.”

 

Dexter sighed, “I called in sick this morning.”

 

Harry frowned, intrigued, Dexter – while looking sleep deprived – definitely didn’t look sick or disease ridden – and Dexter didn’t seem like the man who would call in sick just so he could have a nice slightly expensive yet mediocrely cooked breakfast.

 

“Lack of sleep, lots of deadlines I need to catch up on,” Dexter said, “I’m sure you understand that.”

 

Harry nodded, “oh yes, all too well.”

 

Harry’s food finally came at just that moment, he took his plate of eggs and bacon gratefully, and his mug of coffee was set in front of him on the booth table. When the teen left, he shoved some eggs, bacon and toast into his mouth – the only good thing he could really say about the meal was at least it was hot.

 

Dexter folded up the newspaper in front of him and Harry noticed, with a sense of dread, that the plate in front of Dexter was empty and so was the mug beside it.

 

Dexter stood up, getting his wallet out and putting a twenty on the table.

 

“Dexter, wait-,” Harry said, putting an hand softly on the man’s upper arm. There was on part of him that felt slightly intimidated. The other practically drooled, drowning in a pool of his own lust, “I’d like to get to know you better,” he said. He quickly grabbed one of the napkins and a pen from his pocket and wrote down his mobile number, personal – not work, and handed it to the older man, who took it with a look of apprehension.

 

“Okay,” Dexter said, looking a little confused. He gave Harry a small nod and smile before stuffing the napkin in his pocket, “thanks,” he muttered before walking off and out the door of the café, the bell hanging over the door making a small gentle sound as he did so.

 

 

(***)

 

Dexter got home and laid on the couch, flicking through the channels on the TV, wondering what the hell had just happened. He didn’t meet new people often, so he wondered whether that had been a regular human interaction, or if something odd had definitely happened there.

 

It took him a few minutes to realize that he had never given the man his name, and yet somehow the man had known it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading this fanfiction and enjoying this, please leave me a review - it would mean the world to me <3


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it's taken me so long to post this one. I literally just finished writing this out, and editing it a little, so if there are any typos, I apologise. I've had a busy week, just this Friday (December 9th) it was my nineteenth birthday - but hopefully from now on, I should be able to post a lot more.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and if you're still reading this, feel free to review.

Chapter Six

 

 

“Dexter? Dexter? Are you listening to me? Dexter?”

 

Dexter shook his head slightly and stopped staring into the distance – unfortunately his subconscious gaze had landed on a poor little old lady who looked both concerned for his health, and possibly her own future health. He looked at his sister, Debra, who looked both a little irritated and even a little concerned. Not as concerned as the little old lady however.

 

“I was talking about the case just then,” Debra said, “and you completely zoned out. Where did you go just then?”

 

Dexter shrugged, “I was, uh, just thinking about the case. Have you tried the cameras?”

 

Debra rolled her eyes, “we had a look at traffic cameras but something seemed to interfere with them at a perfectly opportune time,” she muttered, “as for the warehouse – no cameras.”

 

“You’d think a place like that would have cameras-.”

 

“Well, he’s a fucking idiot, and that’s why he’s dead,” Debra snapped, she sighed, seeming apologetic, “I’m sorry,” she said, “I know you’re tired, but I can’t keep thinking about the same facts over and over. I can’t focus on why such a rich guy didn’t have cameras around his warehouse, when I need to be thinking of if anyone could have witnessed either of the murders.”

 

Dexter understood – staying distracted by the one point wouldn’t help them get further with the case. In fact, he should probably have the same attitude towards the weird, overly friendly man that had known his name in the café. 

 

But he had no other information on the man other than what he looked like and his coffee order, not exactly useful information.

 

Maybe the man knew him from the news? Maybe the man had seen him working behind the famous yellow police tape that cut off the public from the particularly gory realities of Miami’s high crime rate? That would explain how the man could have recognized him, but that didn’t explain how the man in the café had known his name.

 

Unless…

 

(***)

 

 

Harry was sitting in the café in the exact same spot he had sat last time. It wasn’t as busy as last time and for that, he was grateful – if Dexter turned up today, he would be able to spot Harry easier.

 

Every time the little bell that hung above the door rang, Harry found himself looking up to see who had entered, every time he felt a little bit of disappointment when he found it wasn’t Dexter.

 

In fact, he was almost ready to get up and leave when Dexter did walk through the door. He headed to the counter and ordered something but whilst doing so seemed to look uneasy.

 

Harry looked down at what was his seventh coffee since coming here which was now almost empty – he looked down at his phone, his personal phone and noticed three messages from Hermione asking him where he was, to which Harry ignored. He turned off his phone instead – he could then at least pretend that it had died when he got back home and he was cornered for answers.

 

“Mind if I sit here?”

 

Harry looked up after putting his phone back into his pocket and he gave the taller man a grin, “not at all Dexter Morgan.”

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry had intentionally called Dexter by his name the other day. Harry didn’t mess up on his job, he was too good at his job to mess up – and as Dexter sat down, looking apprehensive, looking ready to start some form of fight, he was happy he had done it. He had caught this over confident serial killer off guard.

 

Harry had never been one to play with his food, but he was starting to find he enjoyed the activity.

 

“How do you know my name?” Dexter asked.

 

“A few people have told me about you,” Harry said, not exactly a lie.

 

Dexter made a humming sound of some sort. Dexter’s coffee came around and he took it. Harry could see a look of gratitude in the other mans’ eyes which he was sure had nothing to do with the actual coffee itself.

 

Dexter looked at him for a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly, almost like he was trying to observe him through a microscope – see what secrets he held. Harry had half a mind to be a smart ass and do it back, but before he could do so, Dexter sat up straight once more and took a sip of his coffee, before saying; “is this my sisters’ way of setting me up on a date?”

 

Harry tried not to look surprised but he felt his eyes widen slightly anyway. This was a turn he definitely hadn’t expected. But he’d been thrown a bone here and he wasn’t exactly about to throw it away.

 

“Damn,” Harry said, smiling a charming smile, “I was hoping you wouldn’t catch on for a while.”

 

Dexter seemed to sag with some form of relief, “you did kind of gave yourself away when you let my name slip.”

 

Harry hissed in mock pain, “a shame, really, I could have had a lot more fun otherwise.”

 

Dexter nodded and smiled and Harry waited for him to show something more, but it did seem as if Dexter genuinely believed his sister had tried to set him up on a date, and that Harry was the date.

 

Harry bit his lip and tried to concentrate – he tried to do the thing he didn’t often attempt. Despite what he did for a living, he thought Legilimency was still somewhat wrong. He could never quite explain to himself how, but he was sure it had something to do with how he had accidentally performed Legilimency during his Occlumency lessons with Snape.

 

“How is Debra?” Harry asked, trying not to look guilty about what he had just done. Dexter looked none the wiser about what Harry had done, but he did look surprised, what about he wasn’t sure.

 

“Uh, yeah, she’s good,” Dexter said, “busy with work, that sort of thing.”

 

There was an awkward silence. Harry wanted to know for sure whether Dexter believed the cover story Dexter had practically given him, but he didn’t feel comfortable using Legilimency again.

 

They continued to drink their coffees, only occasionally making small conversation.

 

 

(***)

 

 

Dexter walked out of the café feeling nothing but a creeping feeling of apprehension. There was definitely something wrong with that man, whose name turned out to be Harry.

 

Dexter had set the man up to fail by insinuating his sister had set him on a date – which is definitely something Debra wouldn’t do, and especially not with a male. Even though he had had a few questioning sexual experiences within college, Debra was under the illusion that Dexter was completely straight.

 

It hadn’t been his intention to set him up like that either; the idea had just come to him, so naturally it probably had a few flaws, but it pointed out the reality that maybe Harry was a lot more sinister than just an avid news watcher.

 

After all this, he was pretty sure that Harry was the one who had sent that guy to give him the message that had made him lose many hours of treasured sleep.

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry was lying on his bed in his bedroom. It was midnight, Ron and Hermione were in their bed in one of the guest rooms and Harry was finally enjoying some form of peace and quiet – listening to music that he liked didn’t count. As soon as he had gotten home he had been hounded with questions; ‘where have you been?’ ‘shouldn’t you have been working?’ ‘what do you even write about?’

 

Harry now laid in bed with his laptop on the top of his thighs with Google open in front of him.

 

 _Debra Morgan, Miami Metro_.

 

His results popped up rather quickly, a billion crime cases and investigations led by Debra popped up at the very top of the list. Dexter was even mentioned in a few of them – some odd websites listed the two of them as the brother and sister duo of crime. 

 

Quite the interesting reputation, but he couldn’t deny that his was any better – he had two reputations. Saviour of the wizarding world, and an assassin in the muggle one.

 

He kept on clicking links and reading odd articles about the siblings of crime until early hours of the morning, until he could figure out a way to deal with Debra Morgan.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter is shorter than my usual, but I'm hoping the next chapter will have a little more to it. 
> 
> Also, I recently got a puppy. His name is Dexter.

Chapter Seven

 

 

Harry didn’t exactly like sneaking up on people in the comfort of their homes. He liked to be blunt, he liked taking people out in broad daylight, he liked to challenge himself. This was a whole new low for him, as well as the whole Legilimency thing that had happened in the café with Dexter.

 

He stood outside Debra Morgan’s home, it hadn’t exactly been difficult to find out. It had been one of the little thoughts that had gone through Dexter’s mind when Harry had searched it. It was a nice little place, the perfect place for someone who was quite content living alone, someone who obviously liked the beach. Someone who liked a place that literally screamed Miami.

 

He unlocked the door without using his wand – he was getting better at wandless magic, and he tried to further his skills in any which way he could – sometimes performing small spells like Alohomora helped. But he was never quite cocky enough to go anywhere without his wand.

 

It took him a while to find Debra’s bedroom in the dark, not feeling quite confident enough to use Lumos, just in case some people chilling on the beach late at night saw the light through the window and got suspicious. He felt his way around instead, almost knocking a photo frame off of the wall in the process. He was thankful he had muted his movements throughout the house magically before he had moved any further than the doorstep.

 

He was thankful that Debra’s bedroom door wasn’t in fact a door, just a bunch of hanging beads. He could see Debra sleeping peacefully in her bed, which was surprising, considering the amount of things she probably saw on the job, but nonetheless, Harry walked up – admittedly feeling a little bad – and woke her up.

 

She woke up groggy and confused and didn’t have enough time to reach for whatever type of weapon near her before Harry brought out his wand.

 

“Imperius.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Dexter woke up in the morning two a heavy banging on the door. Normally, people would have the courtesy to knock a little more softly, not so much for him but for the neighbors, at seven in the morning. This observation was how he knew it was Debra knocking on his apartment door.

 

He climbed out of bed slowly, not bothering to put on a shirt considering how hot the morning already felt and headed for the front door, opening it in a manner that suggested he was already tired of today’s shit and wanted to go back to bed.

 

“Deb, what do you want on this _fine_ morn-.”

 

He paused as Debra and another person pushed through his doorway. It took Dexter a moment to clear his head and realize that it was Harry.

 

“I heard you met Harry,” Debra said, sounding a little too happy for Dexter’s liking, who was in fact still wrapping his head around the fact that the strange man from the café, whose name he had only just learned yesterday, was in his apartment. With his sister. Who had supposedly tried to set them up on a date. What the hell was going on?

 

“Uh, yeah,” Dexter murmured, “twice now.”

 

“I was supposed to set you up on a proper date,” Debra said, frowning slightly, “in a way that you uh..both…knew you were supposed to be seeing each other,” she looked back at Harry apologetically and Harry shrugged.

 

“It’s fine,” Dexter felt confused – he had suspected of Harry, if that was even his real name, to just use the excuse because it was the one Dexter had thrown to him to use, but instead…it had been legitimately the reason?

 

Something still felt wrong about all of this, there was something fishy and unsettling about it all, but the reality was Dexter couldn’t find a reasonable explanation as to why Debra would be going along with this if it wasn’t in fact the truth.

 

“Debra, how did you even know I liked men?” Dexter asked – it was sadly the first question that came to mind out of the billion others floating around in his head.

 

Debra broke out in a grin, “hate to break it to you brother – but it’s kind of fucking obvious.”


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, once again it has been a long time since I've uploaded anything, but please; let me explain.
> 
> \- My laptop was officially f u c k e d. I had to type completely with an external keyboard, and for me, that just ruined the ~ creative flow ~ of things.  
> \- My girlfriend moved in! Yay! She used to be my old beta yanno. It's how I met her.  
> \- I started doing a course in hospitality and it's been taking up majority of my time, especially ever since I've gotten my new laptop (last Saturday.)
> 
> Hopefully, from now on, I'll be able to spend more time writing chapters and catching up on my fanfictions - I still remember the plots for my fics - I just need to put it into words. 
> 
> I apologise for the short chapter, I hope I'll get back into writing soon. Especially this weekend.

Chapter Eight

 

 

Harry laid down on his bed and sighed. Using so much magic on Debra to keep her under the Imperius curse had been hard. He had to give the woman credit – despite being confused as to why she had been doing what she was doing, she had put up a decent fight. He was sure at one point he had even lost control, only to quickly strengthen his hold on her.

 

But thankfully Dexter hadn’t noticed anything amiss. He had been worried that Dexter had suspected something in the beginning, but towards the afternoon, Dexter seemed to give up. Seemed satisfied that he wasn’t being tricked.

 

Poor Dexter.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Something was definitely wrong. 

 

Dexter had tried to not be suspicious – he had wanted to try to enjoy Harry and Debra’s visit, but there was something that still felt _very_ wrong to him. It was itching at his brain, causing him to feel irritable.

 

Every little conclusion that he could think of, however, made less and less sense. There was no possible way that Debra had something like a bomb strapped to her chest, or a gun pointed to her back, and no offense to Deb – but she wasn’t that good of an actor and she had seemed to be acting relatively normal – minus, well, some abuse of course.

 

But there was something there that he definitely couldn’t put his finger on.

 

There was something about Harry.

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

_Harry…_

_Potter…_

_Come to……._

_Die…._

Harry sat bolt upright, covered in his own sweat, now cold, and with his hand pressed hard against the scar that had once told him the many occasions that he had been in danger. The scar in question hadn’t pained him for many years now, but there was something about hearing the cold taunting voice of Voldemort in his dreams that brought the pain back – and even if it were imaginary pain it still worried him greatly.

 

He breathed in deep and drank deeply from the bottle that sat on his bedside table, which had once been a bottle of rum, but now held only some cold water.

 

He sighed and wiped the sweat off his forehead and tried hard to keep his breathing under control, as he dug into the drawer beside him, searching for his phone.

 

He had been aiming to find his work phone, seeing if there were any messages being left there for him, because sometimes that’s why his scar would pain him. Instead, he found his usual phone, and messaged one of the few numbers that were on there.

 

_you awake?_

 

As he waited he looked at the time and realised it was four in the morning.

 

_Sorry, never mind. Just realised what time it was. Talk to you tomorrow._

 

Harry went to turn the phone off when he felt it vibrate in his hand and the screen flashed at him.

 

_Yeah, you okay?_

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry sat at one of the booths, his hand around a mug of coffee, waiting. He wondered for a moment if the man would stand him up just for the fun of it. As it started getting later, or earlier depending on your perspective, Harry wondered if the man had maybe ended up in a weird early morning accident – if someone had done the job for him.

 

But then he entered the café. He was wearing what could have easily been the shirt he had been trying to sleep in, with a jacket over it. He looked a little tired, but not overly exhausted.

 

Despite that it was definitely a conflict of interest, Harry couldn’t help but admit that Dexter Morgan was incredibly attractive.

 

“So, why can’t you sleep?” Dexter asked, slipping into the other side of the booth. Harry shook his head and tried to concentrate harder on the conversation.

 

“Nightmares,” Harry answered honestly.

 

Dexter frowned, “what about?”

 

Harry shrugged. How could you explain Voldemort to a muggle?

 

“Abusive, uh, relative,” Harry shrugged again, taking a sip of his coffee. He looked anywhere but at Dexter, even picking at the red vinyl cover of the booth.

 

“Oh,” Dexter muttered, looking slightly uncomfortable. For most people, it might have been uncomfortable, probably due to the fact that Harry was unveiling such big secrets at the beginning of their relationship, but Harry knew Dexter was uncomfortable because Dexter didn’t know how to respond, because Dexter didn’t even know if he was properly human.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, shuddering slightly, not sure whether it was for show or genuine, “it’s been years, really, but it still haunts me sometimes.”

 

Dexter nodded slowly, then looked up at Harry’s forehead, “is that how you ended up getting that scar?”

 

Harry laughed, “yeah, actually,” he said, brushing part of his fringe away and touching his finger tips to said lightning bolt scar, “he was a bit of a sadist mother fucker – and had a big thing for symbolism.”

 

“Is he still alive?”

 

Harry blinked several times, unsure of how to respond. Did he confess that he had killed his ‘relative,’ in order to possibly get Dexter to open up about his killings? Was he ready to risk such big information? It could be used against him if Dexter played his cards right – even though they would never be able to find a body, or prove him related to the ‘crime’. But he couldn’t have that reputation here.

 

“No, not anymore,” Harry muttered. He cleared his throat and looked out the dark window, which showed spots of water – it had started to rain, “heart attack.”

 

Dexter snorted and Harry was sure he could hear the other man muffle, “how unfortunate.”

 

Harry smiled.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my girlfriends' favourite Hexter fanfics, so she's been pushing me and pushing me to finish this one up, so she's on your side guys ;) enjoy this chapter, while you're reading it, I'm probably either writing or editing the next one!

Chapter Nine

 

 

Harry didn’t know what time he’d gotten home that night/early morning, but when he climbed back into bed, he felt tired yet satisfied, and could fall asleep with ease and had no nightmares – like he had taken a dreamless sleep potion.

 

When Dexter got home, he didn’t know what to think. He wanted to feel like they had just shared some form of deep intimate moment, but there was still something about Harry that didn’t quite meet the eye, and it was starting to bother him.

 

There was still something dark about Harry. He didn’t know where Deb had picked Harry up from; it definitely wasn’t from work – in fact he had no clue what Harry did for a living. But he supposed that would have to be a question left for their next date, as he was sure Harry was probably in bed right now, sleeping, while Dexter headed for the shower to get ready for work.

 

 _Date_.

 

Had they had a date? Or is that just what Dexter wanted it to be?

 

Dexter sighed deeply and let the water hit the middle of his shoulder blades as he stood in the shower. Everything was just way too confusing – nothing made sense.

 

Did that mean he was wrong?

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry woke up feeling better than he had within the last few months.

 

There was something about talking to Dexter about his nightmares that seemed fresh and new. He didn’t know all about Harry’s past, and he didn’t know how certain things like Voldemort connected into it. If he told Hermione and Ron about nightmares about Voldemort, they would panic – just like any sane member of the wizarding community would. Even though he hadn’t mentioned the name to Dexter, if he had it wouldn’t have meant anything.

 

It felt freeing.

 

He just wondered how much personal information of Harry’s was Dexter willing to take in.

 

 

(***)

 

 

“We found another body,” Debra said, leaning against the door frame, looking business like – her typical emotionless façade.

 

“I’m assuming you need my help?” Dexter asked, spinning in his chair to face her.

 

“Actually, no, there was no blood on the scene,” Debra said with a small sigh, “you were late this morning and we asked Masuoka to come along – but there was nothing there but a dead body.”

 

Dexter frowned, “then – why are we dealing with it?”

 

Debra sighed, “because there was a witness, she saw a man and saw the girl fall.”

 

 

(***)

 

 

Just because his primary focus at this current time was Dexter Morgan, didn’t mean that Harry didn’t have other hits he needed to fill out. Just that morning he had killed a woman named Kaitlin Tibbetts. The primary reason for her murder had been the fact that she had abused her ex-girlfriend, shouting at her and beating her for the smallest of reasons.

 

While the girlfriend hadn’t died, she had been hospitalised and right now the family of the girl were awaiting results on whether or not their daughter/sister would have brain damage for the rest of her life.

 

Her brother had ordered the hit, said he would pay anything as long as his sister got her revenge – and of course Harry had been more than happy to oblige.

 

Unfortunately for Harry, there had been a man nearby who had seen everything that had happened. But, the man hadn’t looked like he was one hundred percent sane, in fact majority of America’s homeless probably weren’t – all Harry had to do with muddle with the man’s memories a little so Harry would appear to look like nothing more than a shadowy figure – nothing else would sound sane anyway.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

“I’m sorry Mr…?”

 

“O’Sullivan,” the man said. He was old and looked frail, as if, if anyone were to touch him, he would fall apart. Though Dexter was sure if anyone tried to touch him right now he would start kicking and screaming, maybe even start throwing his own faeces if he were crazy enough – he definitely looked it.

 

“I don’t quite understand what you mean when you say you saw a shadowy figure,” Debra said. To others, she might appear professional, but Dexter knew that she was feeling irritated – this case was a bust.

 

“I saw a shadowy figure, and he was holding a stick!” the man said grumpily. His voice was high pitched and he was missing quite a few teeth.

 

“Okay, and why is the stick relevant?” Dexter asked, causing him to earn a glare from Debra.

 

“Because, the man brought out the stick and the girl fell down.”

 

Dexter looked up at Debra, who looked like she was dangerously close to rolling her eyes.

 

“Thank you for the information Mr O’Sullivan, I’m sure we’ll send one of our officers to look into it-.”

 

“You think I’m crazy-,” the man stood up, looking like he was about to breathe fire.

 

Two men in police uniforms came through the door and grabbed O’Sullivan by each arm, escorting the man out of the room. Dexter ignored the man’s shrieks and yells and the cursing that barely made any sense and walked over to Debra who looked ready to throw her own hissy fit.

 

“I feel like this is connected to the other bodies that we’ve found around the city,” Debra said, “but I can’t prove it – especially not with witnesses like that,” she sighed and sat down in one of the chairs, she looked exhausted and frankly, ready to hand in her badge.

 

“I’m sure you’ll figure out something.”

 

Debra shook her head, “I don’t think I can,” she muttered, rubbing her face. She looked exhausted and like she had aged by at least ten years, “I’m starting to think that this case is nothing more than a dead end.”

 

 

(***)

 

 

 

Harry stepped out of the shower and automatically headed to his room, where he could hear his phone ringing. He picked it up and noticed that it was his work phone and that the number was a private one.

 

“Speaking?”

 

“Is this-.”

 

“I’m sure it is who you think it is, yes,” Harry said, sounding irritated. His day, after killing Kaitlin Tibbetts, had ended up being pretty, fucking shitty.

 

Ron and Hermione were back for yet another stay.

 

“I need help.”

 

“I’m sure you do,” Harry said, “I’ll message you a location – if you’re not who you say you are, I wouldn’t suggest turning up.”


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye look at that, two chapters in one day. Enjoy!

Chapter Ten

 

 

It was another one of those nights where Harry couldn’t get to sleep. This time it wasn’t because of a nightmare, it was because he could hear his ‘best friends’ screwing in one of the close bedrooms. He wished they had just stuck to the hotel.

 

He pulled out his phone from the top drawer and made sure that he grabbed his personal one instead of his work one. He scrolled through the contacts on the screen and started sending a text to Dexter.

 

_No idea if you’re up at this time again – I can’t sleep. Feel like meeting up at the usual spot?_

 

Harry waited for a while, after about what felt like ten minutes, he turned back over and closed his eyes, trying to block out the other noises around the house when he heard his phone play his notification tone.

 

_Be there in fifteen minutes_

Harry sprung out of his bed, changed out of his pyjama pants into some jeans and left his room in under two minutes.

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

When Harry got to the café Dexter was already sitting in a booth, drinking a mug of black coffee. He looked tired but content where he sat; the image was rather welcoming – Harry tried not to dwell on it too much.

 

“Hey,” Harry said, slipping into the other side of the booth. As he did so, the woman behind the cafés counter walked towards their booth and placed a coffee in front of Harry – his order.

 

“You remember my order?” Harry asked, sounding surprised.

 

“I’m constantly ordering coffees for people at work – sometimes you end up having to remember fifteen different orders – it’s not hard to add another to the list.”

 

Harry nodded and tried hard not to read anything into it, but ashamedly he felt his heart do something that closely resembled a flutter. It confused him; he hadn’t felt something like that in so long. Girl after girl and guy after guy; he hadn’t felt a thing. But now there was definitely something there.

 

“So, why couldn’t you sleep this time?” Dexter asked after taking another sip from his coffee.

 

“I just couldn’t,” Harry muttered, “besides the fact that I have two friends sleeping at mine, screwing the ever-loving shit out of each other – I just felt restless and annoyed.”

 

Dexter choked his coffee and let out a loud laugh, which sounded surreal in the quiet café. He looked around only half apologetic, which caused Harry to smile slightly. He quickly hid the smile though before Dexter could see it.

 

“Understandable,” Dexter said, his voice kind of raspy after choking on his coffee. Harry found it oddly sexy.

 

“I needed out of the house,” Harry said, “and I thought I’d get lonely, so, I thought I would annoy you.”

 

Dexter nodded, “you don’t annoy me.” _I’m too interested in finding out more about you_ , Dexter thought to himself, taking another sip of coffee.

 

Harry smiled, that odd feeling flowing through him again, “thanks.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Debra sat at her laptop, staring at the screen intensely, looking and hoping for something. It was rarely this often that she would have to go to such extremes for a case – but normally they would have a hint by now, some form of evidence – but nothing had turned up and it was starting to irritate her. It seemed unnatural that nobody sane had seen anything – that no blood, hair, or even dead skin follicles had been found. Normally, someone would have screwed up by now – dropping a piece of gum, losing a fingernail or a band-aid.

 

But nothing was coming up.

 

She’d asked for permission to look at the local street surveillance cameras, and she had been rewarded nicely. Every so often she could see a shifty camera, or even a small street crime – but it wasn’t what she was after.

 

She looked towards the upper left corner, switched camera views, and saw the victim from today – she had light blonde hair and was wearing it in a bun. She wore all black, almost like she had been to a funeral. She knew that this morning Kaitlin Tibbetts had been with her lawyer.

 

She saw a man walk up to her. She looked interested, almost a little too interested, and as he grabbed her by the elbow, she happily obliged to being walked away. The man looked back suddenly and Debra got a quick look at his face, before the video file seemed to mess up. By the time the clip fixed itself, the man and Kaitlin Tibbetts were gone.

 

“What the fuck,” Debra muttered, going back to the bit just before the camera started malfunctioning.

 

Every time she played the clip at the same bit, the camera screwed up at the same time, she tried to repeatedly pause the video where his face was shown, but couldn’t seem to grasp it.

 

“I’ll have to get someone to look at it frame, by frame…” Deb bit her lip as she tried to pause it again. It successfully landed on the very second the mans’ face was shown.

 

Debra frowned at sat back in her desk chair, worrying her bottom lip.

 

“Where do I recognise you from?”


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My girlfriend's idea for this chapter is very much different to my own;
> 
> Harry sucked Dexter’s dick so hard Dexter actually came for ten whole minutes
> 
> Literally his balls were empty
> 
> Tiny lil sultanas.
> 
> \--
> 
> Now, enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Eleven

 

 

Dexter put the key into his apartment door and unlocked it, allowing Harry to step into the room in front of him. The apartment was small, yet open, and very Dexter – clean, orderly and impersonal. Everything tucked into its rightful place and not even a little cluttered – not even the desk, which showed only a laptop, a photo of him and Deb, and a bunch of drawers which looked to be locked.

 

“OCD?” Harry asked, cocking up a brow and smirking slightly. He knew OCD didn’t even begin to cover it.

 

Dexter shrugged and gave him a small smile over his shoulder, “I guess that’s one thing to call it.”

 

They headed over to what Harry rightfully assumed was the lounge room – you couldn’t see much behind the shelves that separated the lounge room and the kitchen/study area. The couch was decent length – at least long enough for Harry to sleep on it, there was a TV sitting diagonally across from the middle seat and a coffee table in between the two, which had nothing more than a few magazines – which Harry felt certain that Debra had left there, not Dexter.

 

“You can sleep here for the night – it shouldn’t be too cold, but I’ll get you a blanket if needed.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, unsure of how to deal with the how genuine the man beside him sounded. He looked up slightly and noticed that Dexter had already gone, Harry assumed it was to get him a blanket for the night. He put his phone down on the coffee table and noticed that it was going flat – he also noticed that he hadn’t brought with him his work phone – for which he was secretly glad – he needed a night off.

 

He sat down on the edge of the couch and waited. There was something warm about Dexter’s apartment and Harry found himself relaxing despite himself, sinking into the comfy pillows on the couch.

 

Dexter came back shortly, holding a blanket and an extra pillow or two.

 

“Sometimes Deb will stay over, sometimes she will sleep in my bed and other times, she’s drunk and I don’t really want to deal with it,” he said with an amused look on his face. Harry felt nice enough to give him a polite little laugh as he set the blankets and pillows at the end of the couch.

 

“I trust you’re capable of making your own ‘bed,’ for the night,” Dexter said with a small smirk, making quotations with their fingers around the word bed.

 

“Of course,” Harry said, “I’ve been doing it for the last several years.”

 

Dexter nodded and headed to the kitchen and turned off the light, before heading to the door and turning off the light for the front door and the lounge room.

 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Dexter said, before turning to his room and closing the door behind him.

 

Harry quickly grabbed the pillows and blankets, trying hard not to tangle himself in the blanket in the process. He set up the couch, making sure he was comfortable, and laid down and closed his eyes.

 

He tried hard to clear his mind, to not think about anything, but his mind seemed to constantly be filled with non-stop information and ideas. It was driving him insane.

 

He tossed and he turned, trying to get comfortable on the couch – while it had been comfortable to sit on before, it definitely wasn’t like his bed at home – which he had spent and awfully large amount on, if he was honest. But he had earnt a lot of money from a job and he had felt like splurging.

 

He grunted slightly and turned again, trying to shut his brain up.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry woke up in the morning by being shaken awake. He groaned slightly and he was pretty sure he had asked for another five minutes, but then he could smell the scent of coffee under his nose, and he was up.

 

“I gotta head to work in about five to ten minutes,” Dexter said, holding a bag on his shoulder – it was black and looked bulky, a camera bag, “So drink that coffee quick – it’s not that hot, it’s been sitting for you for about half an hour.”

 

Harry sighed and took a sip of the warm coffee – it didn’t really bother him, the flavour remained the same. He downed the rest of it, got up, and started folding the blanket and placing the extra pillows back at the end of the couch.

 

“I’ll talk to you later tonight?” Harry asked, peeping his head around the doorframe as Dexter grabbed the keys to his car.

 

“Yeah sure,” Dexter said, seeming a little distracted, “do you need a lift home by the way? I can call my sister and warn her that I’m going to be a little late-.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Harry said with a shrug, “you just get to work.”

 

Dexter paused for a moment, smiled and gave a small shrug, “alright, talk to you tonight,” he said, locking the door and then closing it behind him.

 

Harry followed the man down the stairs and then, before heading towards the sidewalk, “talk to you tonight,” he said again.

 

He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that he was genuinely smiling.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling nice today; today I've written two chapters of fanfic, and I'm probably going to aim for a third.
> 
> I love my new laptop, it makes writing easier - and I feel like I actually want to write again.

Chapter Twelve

 

 

Debra walked into the office, feeling tired and even a little paranoid – what if she was laughed at? She knew that she wasn’t the best detective on the team, but her lead had to count for something, right?

 

The man who had grabbed Kaitlin Tibbetts had to be some form of suspect. He might not have killed Kaitlin, but the factor was, moments before her death, this mean had lead her somewhere, and Debra was sure it was in the direction of where the murder took place.

 

Kaitlin had gone with the man too easily, so Debra assumed that it was her friend, or a new lover – due to how badly she hurt the old one. There was no other reason, and there was no sign of a weapon being pulled on her in any way.

 

She sat down at her desk and put the print outs in front of her, of the man leading Kaitlin away, a shot of the mans’ face just before the camera went funny.

 

She frowned slightly looking at the mans’ face again.

 

“Batista,” she said, turning to look at the man who was sitting at his own desk, devouring a donut and looking at something on his computer.

 

He looked up, his mouth full of donut, and nodded.

 

“Can you come over here a second?” Debra asked, trying not to sound annoyed – she hadn’t had breakfast this morning and the sight of the donut reminded her of how hungry she was.

 

Without saying a word, Batista headed over to Debra’s desk, looking determined, which should have made Debra feel more comfortable about the evidence she was going to show – but she still felt a little irked about something.

 

“What’s this about?” Batista asked, grabbed a chair from one of the other vacant desks, and moved it next to Debra’s, “case or personal life?”

 

Debra sighed, “case – it would be easier if this was about my personal life,” she muttered, “at least people’s lives aren’t at stake.”

 

“Which case?”

 

Debra signed into the computer in front of her and showed Batista the manila folder full of images and her own writings that she had started building last night, “the Kaitlin Tibbett case – I have a few images from traffic cams that show her walking on the street, then getting taken away by some guy.”

 

Batista raised an eyebrow and opened the folder, “kidnapped?”

 

Debra slowly shook her head, “that’s the confusing part, she was led away, nicely, like she was just taking a stroll with a friend, the only reason I have to suspect anything, is the fact that it happened moments before that homeless guy found a payphone and called emergency services.”

 

She heard Batista clearing his throat and so she turned to him, “what?”

 

“What’s this about all the cases being connected somehow?” Batista said – he had out the piece of scrap paper Debra had been writing on the night before – it had tired messy scribbled all over the page and little notes in between, explaining multiple theories that she had, including the one about her believing that all the cases were connected.

 

She shook her head, “don’t worry about it – it’s just a theory that I have. I got tired last night a little heated about the ‘success’ rate of the case,” she turned back to the screen, “I won’t be handing that in to anyone yet – besides, I just want you to look at the traffic cam photos.”

 

Batista nodded and started moving all her papers around until he found the print out of the photos.

 

“I recognise that guy,” Batista said suddenly, pointing exactly at the same man that Debra had recognised too.

 

“So do I, I can’t figure out for the life of me where I know him from,” Debra said, worrying her bottom lip.

 

“I know,” Batista said, “he was that blonde-haired guy, the one that handed Dexter that letter and claimed to see the man who dragged the body into the park.”

 

“The Lucas case?”

 

“Yes, Lucas Monstrano – body in the park.”

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry had stayed home majority of the day, he’d stayed in his room reading from a pile of books, both muggle and magical variety.

 

There was a knock on his door, so he closed the book and placed it on the bedside table before telling the person to come in.

 

It was Hermione, looking a little nervous.

 

“Hey Harry.”

 

“Hey,” Harry said, giving his friend a soft smile and trying to keep her at ease. Changes in his personality had definitely been noticed by his friends over the years. How he went from never leaving their side to slowly distancing himself, moving to an entirely different country and never inviting them over, even for dinner.

 

Thinking about how he had acted towards them made his heart ache now.

 

He sat up, trying to be more respectful, “are you okay?”

 

Hermione smiled, “yes, I am, I just wanted to make sure you were. You’ve been out and about lately – which I find weird for someone who claims to do all of his work at home.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, they were being suspecting of him again, “I’ve earned some time off – I’ve just been going to cafes, trying to get some form of inspiration.”

 

Hermione nodded slowly, “for your job?”

 

Harry nodded, slightly amused at the double meaning it could have.

 

Harry had explained to Hermione and Ron a while back that his job, and the reason he stayed at home so much, was because he was a writer, journalist and an author. He explained that he was on his way to get published, because Hermione had been way too eager to read one of his ‘books.’

 

“Do you ever write about the killings that have been happening in Miami?” Hermione asked suddenly, “the same killings the Ministry are focusing on?”

 

Harry nodded slowly, “I do…”

 

Hermione sat down at the end of his bed and crossed her legs. It was like old times, she almost looked seventeen again, except her hair wasn’t as bushy as it used to be – she’d started buying straightening potions for her job, trying to look more professional – he sometimes missed the bushy hair though.

 

“What is your take on it?” she asked, “especially coming from someone who hasn’t read the Daily Prophet articles on the killer.”

 

Harry smirked, “now you’re starting to sound like a journalist.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, “please, like I would ever become one of those soul sucking fiends – especially after having to deal with Rita Skeeter in fourth year- sorry, by the way,” she said hurriedly, “I don’t think you’re a soul sucking fiend.”

 

Harry swept it aside, “it’s fine, reporters and journalists are quite the soul suckers-.”

 

“And paparazzi,” Hermione added.

 

Harry laughed, “they’re practically dementors.”

 

She sighed and swept her hair to the side, biting her lower lip, “I just don’t know what, or who, we’re supposed to be looking for,” she said, “we’ve got an entire list of magical people who are currently living in Miami. A lot of that list have reduced themselves to a completely muggle life with minimal magic. In fact, the other day, we outed a wizard to his wife – who he’d been married to for ten years – and his family.”

 

“Ouch,” Harry said with a small wince, “tough break.”

 

“Others are ministry officials taking holidays, or people who work for the ministry but stay in different countries, you know, so they can keep an eye on things.”

 

Harry froze, “I didn’t realise people from the Ministry were stationed here.”

 

Hermione nodded, “they’ve been doing it for years – but I asked them if they’d seen anything suspicious and all of them agreed that they hadn’t – there’s no leads on this killer whatsoever. He’s like smoke.”

 

“Or she,” Harry said.

 

Hermione nodded in agreement, “or she.”

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

The long conversation with Hermione had left Harry a little on edge. He had never realised just how much the wizarding world meddled in a muggle location such as Miami.

 

He laid in bed that night feeling a little paranoid, worried that people were peering through the window, for all he could know there was someone hiding under an invisibility cloak hiding in the corner of his room, watching him toss and turn and making their own assumptions about why he was acting so incredibly anxious.

 

He tried to ignore the sick feeling in stomach, which he was sure was a mix of nerves, and the fact that he had skipped dinner that night.

 

He felt like the conversation had made the word ‘killer’ appear on his forehead, and there was no way to scrub it off. It was tattooed into his skin and everybody could see it. It was a hideous branding.

 

He grabbed his non-work phone and searched for the messages between him and Dexter, they were starting to build up now – asking how the mans’ day was, how work had been – Harry had tried on numerous occasions to try and figure out if Miami Metro had anything on him, but Dexter avoided those questions smoothly – though he was sure Dexter had had plenty of practice smoothly avoiding questions that could get him into trouble.

 

Harry sighed and sent the man a message;

 

_Regular spot?_


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye look at that guys! Two chapters in the one day, one after the other.
> 
> I would also like to mention that chapter twelve was Beta'd by my girlfriend, who is currently failing at Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3.

Chapter Thirteen

 

 

 

He didn’t know what to say when Dexter turned up – he couldn’t really explain his anxiety and the reason for his lack of sleep here, in such a public place where there were cameras.

 

Plus, it wasn’t as late as their usual time and a lot more people were sitting in their separate booths, talking away. It wasn’t loud enough to have your own private conversation and not having to worry people would overhear – in fact, a couple several seats away were currently talking about wedding ideas and another old man was talking to a young girl, his granddaughter about the military.

 

Dexter sat there looking at him with a concerned look, and Harry looked back at him, trying to read the mans’ face. Was it a genuine look of concern, or was it an act for Harry and the general public? Dexter was a one-man performance in one of the biggest theatres – the world.

 

“Is it your friends again?” Dexter asked out of the blue. He was drinking something different to his regular, which for some reason comforted Harry instead of made him panic – it made Dexter seem more real to him.

 

“No,” Harry said, “well, just the one. We were talking about something and it’s been keeping me up all night.”

 

Dexter cocked up a brow, taking a sip of whatever was in his mug, “what were you talking about to make you so shaken up?”

 

Harry shook his head, “I can’t really talk about it here.”

 

Dexter frowned, but nodded in understanding, “after we finish our drinks, I can drive us back to my place?”

 

If anyone else had offered this to Harry, he would have thought he was getting picked up and that there was an ulterior motive. He had to wonder whether there was one, but Harry felt like the common ulterior motive would be unlikely.

 

Harry nodded in response just as his coffee arrived, “Sounds good.”

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Dexter’s apartment looked the same as it had the other day, but something about it, the atmosphere, felt vastly different. Harry looked around, trying to see if the man had maybe gotten rid of something, or if he had added something to the living room, but alas – there was nothing out of place.

 

The place was impeccable.

 

That’s when it clicked; the place was tidy, too tidy – Dexter had recently killed someone – Harry was sure of it.

 

“So, what have you been up to lately?” Harry asked, walking over to the couch and sitting on the edge of it like he had a couple of nights ago, “like, other than work I mean.”

 

“You know me,” Dexter said, sounding a little tense, “I don’t have much of a social life.”

 

Harry cocked up a brow, “not even a few drinks with your work mates?”

 

Dexter laughed, “you have never sounded so British – and no, not my scene.”

 

It was such a typical answer – normally you wouldn’t think anything of it. If only Harry could somehow manage to get Dexter to admit what he did in his spare time.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Dexter started putting instant coffee in both mugs, adding two sugars in both. He felt relaxed, he’d had a fresh kill last night so he didn’t feel so on edge like he usually would have with Harry asking such personal questions. It was hard, sometimes, to feel like he wasn’t implying anything – he felt like every answer he said was a hint to what he did with his spare time – even though it wouldn’t have been his first conclusion if he had asked the same questions as people did him.

 

He quickly made the coffees and moved over to the lounge room, where Harry was waiting patiently for him, looking content where he sat. It made Dexter feel things he wasn’t used to, and if he were to try and explain it to someone else – he didn’t think he’d be able to find the words.

 

“What is your scene then?” Harry asked as Dexter placed his coffee in front of him.

 

Dexter shrugged – he didn’t really know how to answer that question.

 

“Bowling I guess,” it wasn’t exactly a lie, there had been quite a few times where he had gone bowling with Masuoka and Angel. But it hadn’t been bowling that he’d been doing last night.

 

“I would not pick you to be the bowling type,” Harry said with a small laugh. If Dexter had thought himself the bowling type, he might have been offended.

 

“There’s a lot of things you wouldn’t pick about me.”

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry doubted that very much, but he decided to ignore the feeling. There was obviously no way he was getting the information out of Dexter, unless he used magic, and for some reason he didn’t want to. He felt it was a personal challenge to get Dexter to admit it without having to force it out of him out of incredibly unfair means.

 

 _You could have killed him about three times now_ , Harry thought to himself. He tried to ignore the voice inside his head but he couldn’t, _what’s stopping you Harry? Are you finally starting to feel things again?_

 

He almost growled at himself in frustration, but thankfully caught himself.

 

“Did you have anything to eat tonight?” Dexter asked suddenly, making Harry come out of his reverie.

 

“Uh, no, I didn’t – I skipped dinner,” he said. It had been the third or fourth night where he had skipped dinner due to Ron and Hermione being back at his place again – and after the conversation with Hermione he had felt a little too intimidated to make it to the dinner table.

 

Dexter got up and headed to the kitchen, stupidly enough it took Harry a while to click that Dexter was making him something to eat.

 

“You don’t have to do that you know-.”

 

“I know,” he heard Dexter say from the kitchen, “but I’m hungry too and I thought it would be rude to sit next to you and eat something without asking if you’d like something.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

They had finished eating and were now sitting in the lounge room watching TV. Harry felt comfortable and satisfied. He worried he might have eaten too much however, when he started feeling a little sleepy.

 

“Do you want to stay the night again?” Dexter asked.

 

Harry tried to find traces of annoyance in the mans’ voice, but was thankful when he heard nothing of the sort.

 

“I would,” Harry said, “I’m a little too tired to get up right now.”

 

Dexter nodded and went in the direction he had gone last time to get the spare blankets and pillows.

 

Harry laid down, trying to get comfortable – if he kept staying at Dexter’s place he would become a pro at getting comfortable on this couch.

 

He sat up suddenly when he heard something outside.

 

“Dex?” Harry whispered quietly, knowing the man probably wouldn’t hear him. Suddenly, the lights in the kitchen and lounge room went off, Harry couldn’t see a thing.

 

The was a loud bang and he heard footsteps suddenly coming into the room. He saw a flash of light from a torch and suddenly, he heard a gun fire.

 

Harry flinched and fell to the ground, hoping to avoid the bullet, however, unluckily, he felt the bullet graze his side and felt warmth spread on his side – he was just lucky the bullet hadn’t gone through him.

 

He heard a grunt and someone fall to the floor and heard a yelp from the other person. Then he heard footsteps leave the room, the apartment, and before Harry could start to panic even slightly, the lights were back on.

 

Harry got up off the ground, and looked over the coffee table to see Dexter holding a bloody knife and looking almost irritated that the two men had made a mess on the floor with their blood.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys - sorry for not uploading for a while (two days?) I decided to take a little break from writing and watch some Breaking Bad (again) and been playing some games I recently bought for cheap (Dark Souls $28, GTA V $18) 
> 
> You guys better thank my girlfriend for this chapter because she urged me to get it finished for you all (and herself)

Chapter Fourteen

 

 

 

Harry got up slowly from the ground, as if worried he would startle Dexter, while he stood there holding the bloody knife.

 

 _Is this finally the moment I’m going to get the information out of him?_ Harry wondered to himself, standing tall, his back straight, trying to show that he wasn’t at all afraid of what he had just seen. _Is he going to tell me what he is?_

 

He waited. He wasn’t sure who should say something first, whether he should break the ice and tell the man in front of him that he wasn’t going to say anything, or whether Dexter should say something either threatening or something that someone would say out of fear.

 

Though, Dexter didn’t really look afraid.

 

The man finally looked up, as if only just realising that Harry was there. Harry didn’t make a move or sound.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Harry almost wanted to laugh aloud. Did he look afraid? Startled? Did he seem like he was about to run out the front door screaming bloody murder?

 

“I’m fine,” Harry said, “are you okay?”

 

Dexter nodded, reaching over to grab a paper-towel from the bench and wiping the blood off of the knife, which Harry noticed definitely wasn’t supposed to be used as some form of killing tool – it was simply a chefs’ knife, a knife one might use for dicing up steak.

 

“I’m used to this kind of stuff,” Dexter muttered, putting the bloody paper-towels in the bin.

 

“How used to it are you?” Harry asked. Dexter frowned slightly, and Harry sighed – this was either going to get him the truth, or get him into a lot of trouble.

 

“You don’t seem ashamed, sad, burdened – you don’t seem to be afraid of what you just did. You look like, if anything, you’re upset they made a mess of the floor – I know you deal with dead-bodies – but not even the oldest morgue owner is this comfortable with murder.”

 

He noticed a flicker of emotion go across Dexter’s face – something that looked surprisingly like fear. There was some sort of accomplished feeling that ran through Harry, knowing that he had gotten such an amount of emotion out of a man like Dexter Morgan.

 

“Dexter, I’m not going to tell anyone,” Harry said slowly, as if approaching some form of startled animal. Dexter looked at him as if he was being condescending, and he sat down on one of the breakfast bars and placed the knife in the sink – it rattled loudly, startling Harry slightly.

 

“I promise,” Harry said, adding emphasis onto the word promise, “I have secrets too.”

 

Dexter sighed, “yes,” he said, “I do this regularly. But even if you run off to the police – you can’t prove it-.”

 

Harry laughed, “I’m not going to run off to the cops,” he said, almost as if the idea was ridiculous to him and definitely not anyone else’s first thoughts, “I don’t care about the police, I care about you.”

 

Dexter’s eyes widened slightly, Harry was even a little startled by the admission himself.

 

Had he been lying to get Dexter to trust him? He didn’t know.

 

“How are you going to get rid of the bodies?” Harry asked suddenly, trying to break the awkwardness in the room.

 

Dexter snorted, “yeah, I have a way.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, “can I come with you?”

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

 

Harry had never had much of an interest in boats – he had never felt particularly interested in going on one, nor did he think he wouldn’t have enjoyed it if he had – the thought had simply never occurred to him. But now, standing in Dexter’s boat, the wind going through his hair, the smells of nature around him – he kind of regretted not doing it sooner.

 

He sat down on the floor of the boat while Dexter grabbed one of the large black objects, the bag made an oddly satisfying crackling noise and he wondered whether Dexter found it satisfying too.

 

Harry closed his eyes and listened to the world around him – the silence, the water around them making different noises – whether they were waves hitting the boat half-heartedly or plops as it started to lightly rain, the rain drops hitting the water delicately. Then, suddenly, he heard a loud splash – he mentally imagined his own body floating and then slowly sinking into the water, going deeper and deeper until he rested against the oceans floor – it was oddly soothing to him.

 

“Sorry – is this too graphic for you?”

 

Harry opened his eyes and gave Dexter a soft, and what felt like an almost-apologetic smile.

 

“No, you’d be surprised how used to this I am.”

 

Dexter cocked up an eyebrow and sat down across from him, laying his legs flat against the boats floor while Harry’s legs remained crossed.

 

“I’m just like you Dexter,” Harry said slowly, trying to judge the mans’ reaction, “I kill people too – except I get paid for it.”

 

There was a moment of silence between them where even the water around them didn’t seem to dare to make a noise. They could probably hear a pin drop against the boats carpeted floor.

 

“You kill people?” Dexter asked, sounding incredulous.

 

Harry nodded again.

 

Dexter frowned, “does Debra know what I am?”

 

Harry shook his head – though, the reality was he didn’t know.

 

“I suppose we were just destined to be together.”


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've already written chapter sixteen for this fic - but I might leave it for a while before I upload, depending on how much I get written today. I've been up and writing since 5am, because I couldn't sleep after a coughing fit; my girlfriend is now afraid I have lung cancer because we've both been watching too much Breaking Bad.
> 
> (Totally going to end up writing a Breaking Bad fanfiction one day, by the way.)

Chapter Fifteen

 

 

When they got home that night, there felt like there was some form of understanding between them. The reality was – they were the same people.

 

“I still can’t believe that _you_ kill people.”

 

Harry snorted, continuing to look out the window as Dexter drove. He liked how fast the street lights moved past, they were like fast moving moons, or massive fast moving stars.

 

“I sort of assumed as much considering you had to confirm the fact twice.”

 

Dexter rolled his eyes, “I was kind of afraid and zoning out the first time you told me.”

 

Harry knew the man had a point, but he chose to ignore it, “whatever you say old man.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Without speaking they both knew the same thing – Harry was staying the night. Harry headed in the direction he had seen Dexter disappear to so many times before, wondering how long it would take for him to find the blankets that he had grown quite accustomed to.

 

“Don’t bother,” he heard Dexter say from the kitchen. He felt his heart begin to beat rapidly and turned around to see Dexter in a loose shirt and boxer shorts.

 

“Why?” Harry asked, trying hard not to sound nervous; was Dexter going to get to him first?

 

“I thought you could sleep with me tonight,” Dexter said, giving Harry a small shrug, “I mean – we are supposed to be dating or something along those lines. Right?” he asked, sounding unsure.

 

Harry was unsure too. Did he really want to stick to that story or did he want to try and wiggle out of it while he still could?

 

“Of course,” Harry said, “sounds good.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

There is something weird about waking up in someone else’s bed when you’re either so used to your own or to the person in questions couch.

 

Harry woke up wondering where exactly he was – he had never seen the room in the day, in fact he had never seen the room in any form of light. Last night had been interesting trying to find the bed and what side he was supposed to sleep on. It had gotten him many laughs – which rather than annoying him had only seemed to fill him with some odd form of warmth.

 

He shook his head lightly; no, he was not getting genuine feelings for Dexter Morgan.

 

It was all just an act – his acting was good that he had psychologically conditioned his body to respond in order to make his performance more genuine. That was why all these weird feelings were happening.

 

At least; that was what he told himself as he slowly climbed out of Dexter Morgan’s bed and headed for the kitchen where he could already smell breakfast cooking and coffee brewing.

 

“How did you sleep?” Dexter asked him, as if the situation that had occurred the night before wasn’t weird at all.

 

Harry shrugged and sat down on one of the stools near the breakfast bar, in fact it had been the one that Dexter had sat on last night. He looked around, the stains on the floor were gone and the knife was put back into the knife block that sat on the bench near the sink.

 

It was like nothing had happened.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Harry nodded, “I’m fine – I’ve done this before, so why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Dexter shrugged and started serving food onto a plate, “I don’t know – you tell me.”

 

Harry chose not to say anything else as his food was handed to him, and his utensils, and he started to dig into his food – he was starving to be perfectly honest.

 

“Have you got to go to work today?” Harry asked between mouthfuls of food, hoping that he wasn’t disgusting Dexter with his lack of table manners, but if anything; the man only looked amused.

 

“No, not unless I get called in for an emergency – I used up one of my sick days.”

 

Harry frowned – why would Dexter need to take the day off? To kill again? To kill him maybe?

 

While he had been thinking, he hadn’t realised he had started worrying at his bottom lip. When he came to himself again, he looked up at Dexter who was looking at him with an odd worried expression.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you Harry,” Dexter said, “what happened last night stays between the two of us.”

 

Harry nodded and put another bit of bacon into his mouth. Getting hurt wasn’t his primary concern here – wondering who was going to get hurt _first,_ was.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry stayed until about 12:30PM, he had had breakfast and lunch and plenty of coffee thanks to Dexter, he was sitting in the lounge room when he wondered whether he had overstayed his welcome.

 

“I guess it should be time I went home,” Harry said, “I’m sure my friends are worried about me,” he looked down at his phone and was unsurprised to find he had several missed calls and a bunch of messages, both text and voice mail.

 

“Oh,” Dexter said, hastily standing up. Harry looked at Dexter when he heard the sound and he saw that Dexter looked like he genuinely didn’t want Harry to leave.

 

Harry sighed and tried to keep his tone friendly, “Dexter, I have to ask – what are we?” he said in a tone that said he was going to be kind but he wasn’t going to take any bullshit either – Harry _had_ to know what he had created.

 

“I’m not sure,” Dexter admitted, looking a little sheepish and unsure of himself, “but all I know is, is that I like your company – and you’re not afraid of what I am.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, waiting for Dexter to say more.

 

Instead, the man in front of him decided on a different approach. He strode towards him and before Harry could mentally and physically prepare himself for what was to come, Dexter kissed him.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started writing chapter seventeen, so just because I love you all - here is chapter sixteen.
> 
> Go check out TheSlightlyMoreDaring's fanfiction (my girlfriend) she just started writing again today. She's brilliant.

Chapter Sixteen

 

 

Harry laid in his bed that night, thinking over the events of the last twenty-four hours.

 

He had met up with Dexter at their regular spot, they had gone back to his place, he had gone to go to bed and then the lights had gone off, but before Harry could do anything about the people that had broken it, there had been two thumps and the lights had come back on, to reveal to very-dead looking bodies and an irritated bloody Dexter.

 

Then, that had led to the two of them going out for a late-night boat ride to drop of their intruding friends, and that had led to a few deep conversations – some that Harry hadn’t been ready for.

 

Harry had slept in Dexter’s bed.

 

Dexter had kissed him.

 

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the feeling of the other mans’ lips on his. They had been warm and soft and they had lingered on his for a few moments. Harry remembered the moment where he had kissed back with a weird hunger he hadn’t been expecting. He remembered the moment they broke apart, how they had somehow managed to pull themselves away with Harry’s hands in Dexter’s own.

 

Harry sighed and tossed in his bed. He couldn’t exactly message Dexter to meet up in their regular spot after something like that – it would be too impersonal now.

 

 _Isn’t that what you want?_ Harry thought to himself, _you’ve connected. Now it’s time to disconnect – it’s time to go in for the_ kill _._

Harry shook his head, buried his face into his pillow, and tried to ignore his thoughts and aimed for sleep instead.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Dexter didn’t know how to feel right now.

 

There was still something inside him that told him to suspect Harry of something terrible – but the man had already seemed to divulge his biggest secret; he was a killer – a professional one.

 

But that something inside him, the dark passenger, was telling him there was something a lot deeper to the man that he wasn’t being told – Harry wasn’t being one hundred percent honest about his job or he was just keeping things away from him – he wasn’t too sure.

 

He had no idea how he was going to find out either.

 

He tossed and turned over and over in his bed, trying to get his feelings to make sense.

 

He suspected this guy and his plan had been to get closer to him to get information – he had _definitely_ gotten closer.

 

Dexter now feared he was getting far too attached. For someone who was supposed to be a cold-hearted monster.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Hermione was sitting at the kitchen table when Harry got up. She was sitting there with a stack on newspapers on the table, both muggle and magical. She looked at the words with a small frown – in her other hand was a notebook and a pen that had already been scribbled on a bunch – and he could see that Hermione was already a couple of pages through it.

 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, sitting down across from her, watching her with a mixture of interest and amusement.

 

“I’m trying to find more information on this killer that’s running lose in Miami,” Hermione said, sounding bitter.

 

Harry smirked, “which one? This is Miami you’re talking about – the crime rate is quite high in these streets.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes and quickly took a sip of her tea before speaking again, “you know exactly which one – the one that’s screwing up two different worlds as we speak.”

 

Harry shook his head, he had to disagree, at this very moment he thought he was actually behaving quite well.

 

In fact, he’d been too wrapped up in relationship dramas for the last thirty something hours to check if he had any new jobs.

 

“Is there any new evidence on either team?”

 

Ron appeared suddenly, holding two mugs of coffee. He gave one to Harry who greatly appreciated it.

 

“It’s not a game mate,” Ron said, sounding tired, “this is our jobs on the line,” and then to make sure Harry didn’t think the red-haired man in front of him hadn’t lost his marbles, he gave Harry a cheeky grin and wink, that luckily for him, Hermione didn’t see.

 

“Sorry,” Harry said not-so-apologetically, “but seriously, anything new?”

 

Hermione nodded and Ron grabbed the newspaper that was up the top, that looked like it had only been delivered that morning.

 

“They’re looking for some blond-haired guy – they don’t have a name, they barely have a detailed photo of the guy’s bloody face-.”

 

“Ron-.”

 

“Not-so-bloody face,” Ron said with a shrug, “honestly, when I heard the guy was blonde I thought it was Malfoy – but he’s been MIA for a few months now doing work for some other part of the Ministry.”

 

“If he’s doing work for the Ministry then he’s not quite MIA is he Ronald,” Hermione said – she sounded tired and like today really wasn’t a day to muck around.

 

“Either way,” Ron shrugged once more, a habit that Harry was finding increasingly more amusing every time he did it, “not Malfoy.”

 

Harry nodded in agreement, “not Malfoy.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry had somehow _magically_ convinced - though not really magical - Ron and Hermione to go out to dinner for the night. It had taken a lot of arguing, and a lot of frustration on Hermione’s part, who wanted to keep looking through the papers like she had been all day, and Ron had thought Harry simply wanted to get rid of them – which Harry didn’t admit was true, but whatever – but he had managed to usher them out the door, both in decent going out clothes.

 

He had the house to himself.

 

He went up the stairs to his room and grabbed both of his mobile phones. He grabbed a notebook from his bedside table drawer as well and headed downstairs, where he found the pen Hermione had been using earlier – surely, she wouldn’t mind.

 

He looked through the amount of missed calls and a mixture of abusive and pleading text messages on his work phone. All the abusive ones were from that Violet girl – or whatever the fuck her name was, he really didn’t care anymore.

 

_Why is he still alive?_

_What the fuck_

_They said you were the best_

_All I see is him hanging out with some nitwit all fucking day in cafes and shit._

_Disappointed._

Harry rolled his eyes – it was like reading a Donald Trump tweet.

 

He kept going through the messages, looking for something that grabbed his interest. He needed a little bit of fun. There were a few joking requests to assassinate the president – which realistically he could have done – but that seemed like too much effort for one kill.

 

Then, there it was;

 

_Asesino, I hope this is you – I have a job for you. I’d like to meet up and discuss. I know where your building it. I’ll be waiting._

Harry always found the ones with the least amount of detail were the ones that could be the most interesting – because really, who would want to be caught with the details of a murder they wanted carried out, in their phone messages?

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry walked into his office. He missed it and he was sure he even saw several specs of dust on the desk – it had been a while.

 

He performed a quick spell so he could see through the walls – there were two people sitting and waiting, and then there was the lady at the front desk who honestly had no clue what was going on around her – Harry just kept giving her work. Though, he had seen her sneak onto her Facebook quite a few times.

 

He sighed and sat back in his chair, enjoying the moment of peace and quiet – of the way life used to be before Dexter Morgan had been thrown into the mix.

 

There was a hammering knock on his door and he performed the spell again. Both clients and receptionist were in their spots, but at the door was an angry looking Violet.

 

“Come in,” Harry said, sounding perfectly bored.

 

The door flew open and slammed against the wall, Violet then walked in, and decided to throw the door shut again.

 

“You!” she screeched, pointing a finger at him. Harry performed a quick wandless spell so nobody could hear what was going on in the room, “I have waited, and _waited_ for you to kill this man – it is so infuriating I’ve almost considered doing it myself!”

 

“What’s stopped you from hiring anyone else?” Harry asked, sounding slightly amused.

 

She screeched again and pulled at the strands of her hair, “I fucking have! He fucking killed them two and the fucking kicker is I have no fucking way to prove it!” she growled in frustration, “besides, how do _I_ explain that the man I want dead, that I _purposely_ hired people to kill him, _killed_ the hitmen that _I_ hired, because _some_ lazy sack of shit won’t do his fucking job!”

 

She grabbed something off Harry’s desk quickly and threw it against the wall – Harry didn’t really care, he only showed amusement, besides – he could fix whatever had broken, later when the blonde bitch had left his office.

 

Instead, he decided to take the consoling approach.

 

Harry got up slowly, like he was approaching a deadly animal – it almost resembled the moment he had first approached Buckbeak in third year, he grabbed her gently and started stroking the silky blonde strands while Violet started to cry.

 

“I’m sorry I haven’t done anything yet,” Harry said in a soft soothing tone – even though it totally didn’t match how he was feeling. In fact, he felt oddly horny, “I’ve been incredibly busy – you know that I have a lot of jobs to get through – you know for a fact you’re lucky I even took your case on.”

 

“Yo-you only took it because I wasn’t the only one who ordered for you to kill that man,” she said – her crying sounded awful, not in that heart-breaking way; Harry was just willing to break her neck to get her to stop.

 

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” Harry said, giving her a soft smile that she barely acknowledged through her pathetic tears, “but you know another reason why I took the job on.”

 

She nodded, “because I’m attractive.”

 

Harry laughed, “that too…” he sighed and shook his head, “come on, come sit on my lap, we’ll talk about it.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry would be lying if he said it had been the first time he’d fucked someone in his office, knowing perfectly well that at any moment, the spell could fade and everyone would hear them, knowing perfectly well that at any goddamn moment anyone could walk through that door and see everything – it was more of a turn on to him than it was a fear.

 

He fucked her from behind as she kept herself up by keeping her hands on the desk, it had started off with some light spanking, because honestly – she had some daddy issues. It had ended up with him fucking her hard and fast, choking her and biting and sucking her earlobes while she moaned and screamed and even giggled in enjoyment.

 

She moulded perfectly into every kink and fantasy he had ever had.

 

She was boring.

 

She screamed loudly as she came, Harry kept quiet and emptied himself into her, enjoying the way she almost moaned in pleasure as she felt him fill her up. She sighed contently and let her head hit the desk, satisfied.

 

Harry pulled himself out of her and stood back, tucking himself in and once again admiring her red ass. He sighed, it was time to clean her up and make her forget again.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

As soon as Harry got home he went for a shower, he had spoken to the two-other people, and their propositions had been interesting enough for him to take the jobs – but they were in the back of the filing cabinet for now – the biggest one at this very moment was still the job on Dexter, and now he knew Violet was sending other people to take care of it for him – and Harry had also almost gotten killed from the girls’ recklessness.

 

He scrubbed at his skin and washed his hair, brushed his teeth and stood there for a moment, enjoying how the hot water had hit his back.

 

He mentally wondered to himself if what he had just done counted as cheating on Dexter.

 

He also mentally wondered if the fact that he felt guilty about it meant he either liked Dexter or was becoming more human again.

 

Or maybe it was both.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look at that, another chapter - I guess I'm feeling good, writing wise, today.

Chapter Seventeen

 

 

Guilt is an odd sensation.

 

It is not a bad feeling, but it isn’t a good one. It’s a mix of anxiety and negativity – but Harry wouldn’t describe it as ‘bad’. It would follow him like a rain cloud – the one that fucked you up in Mario Kart that wouldn’t go away until you pushed it onto someone else or let it destroy you by making you feel small.

 

Yeah, that was a pretty good metaphor for guilt.

 

Harry opened the fridge and considered the emptiness in front of him – he hadn’t given the maid a grocery list for all the things he needed, so she hadn’t gone shopping. Unfortunately, he couldn’t really blame her for his mistakes – so the guilt continued.

 

He slammed the fridge door shut and headed for the cupboard instead, deciding that dry cereal would have to do.

 

“Mate, why is there no food in the house?” Ron asked. The man had just woken up, Harry doubted he’d even brushed his teeth, especially considering he hadn’t brushed his hair, “I thought you were loaded or something.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, “I am,” he muttered, “not my fault you two eat everything in my house.”

 

Ron shrugged, not looking bothered by Harry’s scathing remark, “not my fault you don’t eat it first.”

 

Harry closed box of dry cereal he was going to attempt to eat and put it back in the cupboard – he would have it later, instead he decided he was going to Dexter’s for breakfast.

 

Harry didn’t say a word as he headed to the front door with his keys in hand.

 

“Where’re you going?” Ron asked, looking a little worried in his sleepy state. At least he tried.

 

“Out,” Harry said quickly, before opening the door and walking out on the rainy weather in front of him – it perfectly suited his mood, really.

 

He slammed the door shut and walked down the front pathway, onto the street.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

There was the sound of knocking at Dexter’s door that shook him out of his reverie – he had been staring at his laptop, not really reading the words that had been sent to him from his sister, who, for some odd reason had decided to email him. There was something not quite right with her head these days.

 

The email was short and sweet, but serious and a little nerve-wrecking;

 

_Dexter,_

_I need to talk to you as soon as I can – I have no idea how safe you are right now – bring your new boy-toy with you if need be. I can’t give you any more details now, just in case your emails are being monitored – we might all be if this guy is as dangerous as I think he is._

_Debra Morgan._

Dexter got up slowly and headed for the door, he wondered whether it would be Deb, who couldn’t wait until some other time to talk to him about he was possibly in danger.

 

He was relieved to see it was just Harry.

 

“Hey,” Harry said, giving him a soft smile. There was something underneath it, but Dexter couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He tried to not let it bother him and opened the door wider so Harry could come in.

 

“Hey,” Dexter responded, giving back the same smile. It made him feel bad and like he wasn’t being genuine – but he was. He was trying.

 

Harry sat down at one of the breakfast bars’ stools as Dexter closed the door, a lot less harsh than Harry had done to his own front door this morning. Harry sighed in relief – he felt protected from the world, from his overbearing friends who simultaneously were trying to help him, but were also putting him in a corner and investigating him without even realising it.

 

Sometimes, it started getting too much and it felt like the world he had come to love, now that he felt like he had control of it, was trying to swallow him whole.

 

Maybe he had over-indulged. Had taken everything for granted – and now everything was getting ripped away from him, everything he had worked hard for, everything he had tried to build morally and otherwise.

 

“Harry, are you okay? You look a little pale.”

 

Harry didn’t know how it happened. It seemed to come up like word vomit, fighting its way out of his body, trying to be free of its own cage, like the one Harry himself was struggling with.

 

“Dexter, I think I cheated on you.”

 

 

 

 

  
(***)

 

 

 

Hermione walked into her office in the Ministry of Magic, carrying the muggle newspapers and a bunch of Daily Prophets that she had started collecting at Harry’s place – it had been hard considering Harry only ever had the muggle papers delivered to his house – Hermione had had to apparate here every day and personally ask people at work for her own copy – and sometimes she had to apparate again to the Daily Prophet office.

 

This morning, luckily, there was a copy on her desk with a little sticky note attached.

 

_Matheus said you might need this,_

_Agatha_

She smiled cheerfully down at the note – that made her job easier – it gave her more time to look over the latest article of the killer.

 

As she looked over the article, she skimmed over something that she found interesting.

 

_During recent contact with our muggle contributors, they mentioned that the name of the killer hadn’t been released to the public, but that a major suspect within the case is a blonde man, named Asesino – everybody claims to have never met, seen, or done any form of business with him, despite him being an infamous hit man through-out the streets of Miami._

 

Hermione frowned and grabbed out her notebook and this time, a quill, to write down her every thought on that one sentence.

 

She wondered if Harry had ever heard of Asesino.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So somehow I accidentally ended up writing two chapter eighteen documents, but luckily for you guys, they fit quite well together - so you get to read both of the chapters anyway.
> 
> Thanks to my girlfriend for being my rock when life is getting too hard x

Chapter Eighteen

 

 

Dexter didn’t really know how to feel.

 

The admission had shocked him, so there was that, but he tried to bring in all the factors;

 

One; he and Harry weren’t official yet – hell, they’d just had their first kiss, and it was Debra that had set them up in the beginning. It had taken this long for them to have their first kiss – why wouldn’t Harry try to find someone else on the side who was maybe a little more normal than him.

Two; Harry wasn’t quite normal though – he was a killer just like Dexter. But there was still the fact that the relationship between the two of them was incredibly slow burning.

Three; he enjoyed spending time with Harry, but there was still something inside him that made him wonder if Harry was up to something. He guessed this made Harry seem more human – he made mistakes, was this just a little patch of bumpy road in their relationship or was it a part of his little plan, if there was a plan.

 

“Dexter, I’m so sorry, really, I-.”

 

Dexter shook his head and gave Harry a warm comforting smile – if there was a little plan, Dexter didn’t want Harry to know that he was suspecting him of anything, and if not then he didn’t have to be an asshole when being an asshole wasn’t needed.

 

“It’s fine,” Dexter said – and he noted that he sounded genuine, another thing that freaked him a little is the fact that it even felt that he meant it. It was fine.

 

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. Dexter noticed there were tears in his eyes, and he both wanted to brush them away, and see just how fake they could possibly be, “it’s not – it’s not just some mistake where you can say, ‘oops,’ and forget it ever occurred,” he muttered, he rubbed at his eyes viciously and sighed, “it’s been keeping me up all night, I’ve never felt so guilty in my fucking life,” he looked up at Dexter, “you’re such an amazing guy – and I did something stupid. I could have ruined all this – it still can.”

 

Dexter didn’t really know what to say at this point. He had never experienced a situation like this. He had seen hundreds of Miami locals go through it, heard people fighting in their houses, arguing in restaurants and nightclubs – there had been murders and crime scenes he had visited because of these situations.

 

He didn’t feel like killing or hurting Harry, like in the case of many lovers.

 

He felt like hugging him, holding him.

 

So; he walked around the breakfast bar, and he did.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

“How was work today?” Ron asked, biting into a bit of bread.

 

Hermione had decided to go out to dinner again tonight, from what she had heard from Ron, Harry was in a foul mood and she didn’t want to walk into it one way or the other. Besides, it made her feel nice and special, and she was in a good enough mood to enjoy it, unlike the other night where she had felt harassed, rushed – she’d been ready to punch Harry once he’d pushed herself and Ron out of the door.

 

“It was good,” she said, smiling. She took a sip of her glass of water and looked around at the other people in the restaurant. This place was a little fancier than what they’d experienced the other night, and while Ron was _dressed_ for the occasion, he wasn’t acting like it was a five-star restaurant, that realistically in a place like Miami, they were lucky to afford.

 

“Just good?” Ron asked with his mouthful, making Hermione feel a little annoyed.

 

Regretfully, her tone probably made her sound like she was annoyed too, “yes,” she said, “just good.”

 

He nodded and took a sip of his own water, swishing it around his mouth in a way that seemed especially rude in a place like this.

 

Hermione sighed and looked at the menu, trying not to let it bother her, but she found it wasn’t that easy.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry laid in Dexter’s bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it was the most entertaining thing in the world. He’d had a massive cry earlier on that day, had a big breakfast and some tea, and then had been told to nap because he was over-exhausted. He felt like a child, but it was nice the way Dexter seemed to care for him.

 

He felt bad, he felt like he was taking advantage of the situation, and oddly enough it made him want to cry even more. But he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to ignore how his eyes seemed to sting like they’d been open for hours.

 

“You okay?”

 

He sat up slowly, there was Dexter standing in the doorway, looking at Harry with a mix of pity and something else that he couldn’t quite figure out in his half-awake state. He wanted to get up and hug Dexter, get down on his knees and apologise again and again, either verbally or some other way – whichever way that could make Harry feel like he had redeemed himself.

 

The thing that scared Harry the most was just how much he seemed to care.

 

He sighed and slowly got out of bed. He felt fragile. He felt ten times smaller and ten times thinner, ten times shakier and ten times more afraid.

 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Dexter said, sounding a little disappointed, “come on, I made dinner.”

 

Harry nodded and headed towards the lounge room, where dinner sat, nice and hot – he suddenly felt like he could eat both plates of food – plates included.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have fun with this one guys ;)

Chapter Nineteen

 

 

“Harry!”

 

Harry groaned and looked towards his bedroom door – he’d come back to his place to sleep; he’d felt like he needed some space to think – and he didn’t want to lash out at Dexter if his thoughts brought him to some weird bad place, like they had done many times.

 

These are the times when he wished that his work phone would ring with a million different contracts to do.

 

“Harry; I need to ask you something!”

 

The voice was outside his door now, rather than down the stairs. He sighed and slowly climbed out of bed – he felt like something bad was about to happen.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Dexter looked up at the ceiling. He’d never really noticed how often he did it in the morning until he’d seen Harry do it as well. He didn’t know what it meant to himself or Harry – whether it was something they subconsciously did or whether it was a part of the morning ritual. Either way knowing someone else did it made him feel better.

 

Knowing that Harry killed people like Dexter; not the exact same method and reasoning, but not the gross overly emotional way – like they were doing the world a favour – made Dexter feel better.

 

They were like Dark Avengers.

 

Dexter got out of bed and headed for the shower – he wondered if it would be too rude to invite Harry over for breakfast – he wanted to hear about Harry’s method – not so he could get tips, he didn’t need those – he was interested in how Harry felt when he did it, why Harry did it – if he ever thought he would go back to being ‘normal.’

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

 

“I’ve been reading through the papers over the last few days, as you know,” Hermione said. They were sitting in the kitchen, Ron was between them, eating cereal that Hermione had obviously purchased – he was pretty sure Ron had no idea what he was eating but he seemed to be enjoying it.

 

Hermione was giving him a weird look – this felt weirdly impersonal, like she was investigating him rather than asking information from a friend. It admittedly made Harry feel nervous – he wouldn’t have minded throwing his body through the large glass window in the kitchen right now.

 

“Okay,” Harry said, nodding slowly, “what about them?”

 

“You’ve lived in Miami for years,” Hermione said, “have you ever heard of an assassin named Asesino?” she asked, looking at his face, specifically his eyes, as if waiting for a clue, “a lot of people have claimed that they’ve never met him and have never asked him to do anything, a lot of those people have been put in groups for gambling addictions because they can’t explain why so much of their money has suddenly disappeared,” she frowned slightly.

 

“I’ve heard of the name around town,” Harry said, “done a few of my own reports about him.”

 

Hermione’s frown deepened, “and you never mentioned the name to me, even when you’ve seen me slaving, article after article, trying to find some connection.”

 

Harry shrugged – he was starting to feel like a kid; as if his mother was trying to figure out why her overly expensive vase was found broken in the hallway, hint; Harry did it.

 

“I didn’t think Asesino was relevant to your case,” Harry said, “you’re looking for a wizard, aren’t you? Not some rebellious muggle.”

 

Ron snorted into his cereal.

 

“You consider this ‘rebellious,’?” Hermione said, almost sounding a little offended, “there’s a different between putting graffiti all around town and _murder_ , Harry.”

 

Harry tried to refrain from rolling his eyes, “you know what I mean, Hermione,” he said, copying her tone like an obedient parrot, “I didn’t think it was some wizard gone rogue so I didn’t mention anything.”

 

He sighed and then found himself frowning, “besides – how do you know it’s a wizard gone rogue.”

 

Hermione looked like she was about to turn into Asesino herself, “because,” she said between gritted teeth, she sighed and then continued in a calm tone, “as I said – people don’t remember ever talking or seeing or asking anything of Asesino. I’ve been testing a few muggles who have gone to gambling addiction support groups – and they’ve been around magic,” Hermione smiled, seeming proud of herself for thinking of this now, “Asesino is removing their memories so nobody can catch him.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, “how does that help you?”

 

Hermione smiled again, “the amazing thing is, we can trace the magical signature to their wand.”


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: it has been a while since I have read the Harry Potter books, so not everything will be canonically correct in regards to wizarding law and such – but to be honest, you’re reading a crossover fanfiction set many years into the future where the series was left off (if you don’t count the whole nineteen years later thing) so you really shouldn’t be complaining too much.

Chapter Twenty

 

 

Harry was floating in the pool that he purposely had placed under the house. He remembered Ron once making a quip about Harry’s house only missing a pool – it wasn’t missing one. It was just hidden. It was Harry’s getaway and it was appreciated at this moment more than ever before.

 

There were times when he closed his eye and he could feel himself relaxing, he could feel himself breathing normally and all his problems floating away as if they were in the pool with him, in the water, diluting. Then, the reality would hit him once more, and he could feel a certain tightness in his chest, his breathing would become short and erratic. He couldn’t escape the reality of what was going to happen to him.

 

He was going to get caught.

 

The evidence was slowly starting to pile up against him, he felt like he was making mistakes everywhere he looked. The other day he had forgotten his work phone at the kitchen table when he’d gone for a shower, Ron had found it luckily for him – though Ron had noticed it wasn’t his usual phone and had asked Harry if he had gotten a new one.

 

Now he didn’t feel comfortable using either phone in front of Ron or Hermione, which was annoying because sometimes using his phone was the only way for the two of them that he wanted or needed to be left alone.

 

He swam to edge of the pool and pulled himself up, sitting at the edge and looking at the water in front of him. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he knew he, at most, had three weeks left before he got caught. Before they busted him with the evidence that they had. They would be able to trace him and he had no idea how to prevent it from happening.

 

He dove back into the water and allowed himself to sink deeper into the water.

 

Nobody could get him here.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry was sitting in his bedroom putting his shoes on – he needed to get out of the house, the underground indoor pool just wasn’t good enough right now. He wanted to scream in frustration, pull out his hair, anything that would get everything bad about him out – even if that meant the serial killer in him because he was done. He was done with this, he was done with feeling cornered and scared.

 

His phone rang – he could hear it vibrating in the drawer. He opened it up and slammed it tightly shut again, almost flinching at the loud noise he had made, before answering the phone, not looking at which phone it was or the caller ID.

 

“ _Hey_ ,” he heard the voice say through the speakers, he instantly recognised it as Dexter’s.

 

Harry fumbled with his phone for a moment in shock, right now, with the thoughts he was having, he hadn’t expected Dexter to call and rescue him from it all – if anything he had been expecting another job to come in, because, fuck his life basically.

 

“Uh, hey,” Harry said once he’d gotten himself back together, in a less embarrassing state – he was just happy Dexter couldn’t actually _see_ him right now.

 

“ _Are you alright_?” he heard Dexter ask. He could also hear something else in the background, and while he couldn’t quite figure out the sound he was sure that Dexter was driving. His assumption was confirmed when he heard a car horn honking in the background from some rude Miami individual who was speeding towards nowhere.

 

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, “I’m fine, just…” he shook his head, even though he knew Dexter couldn’t see it, “can I come over to your place for a couple of days?”

 

There was a slight pause, “friends getting to you again?”

 

Harry laughed, “more than ever.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

There was something bothering Harry more than getting caught – it was the fact that he felt guilty about everything he had done. He didn’t know whether the two situations were related or not, but it was starting to get to him.

 

He walked up the stairs and knocked on Dexter’s door, he felt a sense of relief wash over him when the man finally answered, with a look of slight worry on his face. He couldn’t tell whether it was fake or not, and he couldn’t tell whether that was because of the fact of how down he was, or just because Dexter was that good of an actor.

 

He also realised that Dexter was slightly scary in that respect.

 

Harry felt a tear slide down his cheek and saw the look of worry on Dexter’s face grow deeper.

 

“I think I’m becoming human again.”

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry was sitting on the couch with a hot mug of coffee in his hands. He was only partially watching a news report on the TV, but he found that the only reason it was on was because he couldn’t stand the silence any longer – he had needed noise, a distraction from everything going on around him. As if, if the TV was on loud enough, he wouldn’t be able to hear the pounding on Dexter’s door when the Ministry eventually came for him.

 

It almost made him laugh, imagining the look on people’s faces when they realised that this time round, Harry Potter was the bad guy.

 

“You can stay here for as long as you like by the way,” Dexter said, sitting down next to him with his own mug of coffee. The man admittedly looked awkward, and Harry found that amusing – he had once found Dexter relatable. Now he was ice. He was cold and solid – something to fear also.

 

So much could change in so little time.

 

“Are you sure?” Harry asked shakily, “I’m a bit of a mess right now and I would hate to make you feel uncomfortable.”

 

Dexter shrugged and didn’t say anything more, simply took a sip out of his mug in his hands and glued his eyes to the TV.

 

Harry tried to get into it, but his mind couldn’t help but go back to the fact that he was going to get caught soon.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol enjoy
> 
> Also, feel free to follow my blog;
> 
> everythingisteagan.tumblr.com

Chapter Twenty-One.

 

 

 

Harry was sitting at the breakfast bar watching as Dexter cooked them dinner. It was moments like this where he could feel all his troubles slip away – everything felt normal again. Back to the days where he was hanging around to get more insight on the man in front of him.

 

He also didn’t know what he was going to do with that.

 

“How do you prefer your steak?”

 

Harry shrugged, “medium rare, please,” he muttered slightly. He had turned his attention to the TV and he felt his eyes widen.

 

As if just bringing up the memories of the days where Harry actively hunted Dexter down, there was Violet on the TV being interviewed. He couldn’t quite hear what it was about, but the little blue bar along the bottom of the screen suggested that it was an interview about her late father and his sudden death. Violet tells all was the basic summary of it.

 

“Did you know who that man was?” Harry asked, pointing towards the TV where they just showed a photo of the man himself, Violet’s father.

 

There was something that changed on Dexter’s face for a moment, Harry couldn’t exactly pinpoint what exactly it was – but then Dexter turned and looked at him for a moment before smirking. It seemed to be the moment Dexter realised who he was talking to.

 

“Yes,” Dexter admitted, flipping over a piece of steak – the smell of it was starting to make Harry incredibly hungry.

 

“How so?” Harry asked, trying not to seem like he was pushing for information too desperately. He just wanted him to admit it, for some weird reason, it would make Harry feel better.

 

Dexter shrugged as if it wasn’t too important, but then casually admitted, “I killed him.”

 

Harry felt something in his chest stir. He wasn’t sure what but it was a good feeling, it made him feel almost warm.

 

Harry nodded slowly, “okay. Good.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Dinner had been amazing and the most relaxed Harry had felt in a long time. Dexter could cook, and he found that the two of them had a lot in common, other than being killers and that they could hold a conversation well. It had been funny and they had gotten along quite well.

 

Was this all the stuff Harry had been missing while too busy trying to do this job for Violet?

 

The whole time he could, however, feel his phone weighing heavily in his pocket. He had been tempted to go outside and call Violet and tell her the deal was off, and he would pay some form of compensation for the trouble of it all.

 

Then he wanted to make sure that no matter what happened, Dexter remained safe and sound. That somehow, if he was taken away by the ministry or the police, or God forbid if he died somehow – that Dexter was protected and there was no way any other type of hit men could hurt him.

 

Harry wondered if maybe he was being a little too possessive and intense, but he didn’t really care.

 

“So, what do you want to do tonight?” Dexter asked. Harry looked at him and the man looked a little embarrassed, maybe even a little nervous – and Harry could tell just from one look that the man wanted to stay in tonight.

 

“We could watch a movie?”

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

The movie didn’t last long.

 

It wasn’t that the movie wasn’t entertaining, it was just the fact that throughout the whole ideal, there were other things on both of their minds, and those thoughts won out over the invigorating plot of the film.

 

Harry was sitting in Dexter’s lap, kissing him with a hunger he hadn’t noticed genuinely existed anymore – yeah, he’d put it on for girls simply so he could get off for the night, but this was a whole lot different – and instead of being annoyed by it, he was enjoying every second of it.

 

He loved the feel of Dexter’s hand rubbing his crotch and slowly trying hard to unbutton Harry’s jeans. Harry bit his lip and moaned slightly when he felt the other man’s hand go down his pants, groping in all the right places.

 

Dexter let out a satisfied sigh, but Harry wanted more. He wanted to drag the other man to the bedroom, he wanted to be fucked hard against the wall, choked, until the point where he was on the brink of unconsciousness, he wanted excitement, he wanted to be dominated – but he knew that Dexter probably wasn’t ready for that, besides, just kissing the man was exciting anyway for Harry.

 

Eventually, the two of them stopped kissing. Dexter got up, somehow managing to keep Harry in the same place and carried Harry to the bedroom.

 

“Are you sure about this?” Harry whispered in Dexter’s ear as they headed to the bedroom. At the same time, he was kissing Dexter’s neck. He heard the door close quietly behind them and before he could say anything, he had been thrown onto the bed and Dexter was on top of him.

 

“I’m more than sure,” Dexter said hungrily, kissing Harry once more and then suddenly pulling down his jeans in one swift movement.

 

Harry was so turned on, he didn’t even care about foreplay, he didn’t freaking need it. He needed Dexter.

 

It was almost like Dexter knew this – he didn’t say anything as the man reached over to his bedside table and got out a bottle of lube and started preparing Harry, while simultaneously, though not very successfully, taking off his own clothes.

 

“I need you,” Harry barely heard himself say, though Dexter certainly heard him. He felt pathetic, needy, definitely embarrassed but he didn’t care.

 

Throughout the night, the sound of skin slapping against skin, moaning, even at one point a loud scream, was all that could be heard.

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

When Harry got up, he didn’t feel the usual tenseness and need to get out of bed. He could have stayed in there forever if the smell of bacon didn’t convince him to get out.

 

He was completely naked when he got out of the bed - so he quickly grabbed his briefs that he had been wearing the night before and what he was sure was Dexter’s t-shirt; he was sure Dexter wouldn’t mind – and headed into the kitchen.

 

Dexter was standing in the kitchen, as far as Harry could see, without a shirt, cooking them breakfast – Harry personally couldn’t think of a better image.

 

“Sleep well?” Dexter asked him with a cocky smirk.

 

“Ha,” Harry said, returning said smirk, “marginally.”

 

Dexter rolled his eyes, but Harry knew the man knew for a fact that he had rocked Harry’s world last night.

 

“Can I stay over again tonight then?” Harry asked then, sitting a seat near the breakfast bar, he peered over slightly and confirmed to himself that Dexter was indeed naked behind the breakfast bar, “you know, so I can get some decent sleep?” he said with a cheesy overdone wink, which he was happy to note made Dexter grin.

 

“Of course,” Dexter said, “just so you can get more sleep – gotta stay healthy and all that.”

 

Harry laughed, “ha, of course,” he said, taking off a strip of bacon from a plate on the side of already cooked bacon, “along with my amazing diet of course.”

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry felt privileged when it came to the fact that he had been allowed to stay at Dexter’s apartment while the man went to work, probably trying to unravel the case that Harry himself had created. He looked around at the family photos on the bookshelf, went through the book and DVD collection and found himself reading some forensic book, which got him thinking – how was he going to stop the ministry from figuring out he was Asesino?

 

He went over to Dexter’s bedroom, beside the side of the bed he had slept on last night there was an overnight bag he had gone out earlier today to grab. In it, his wand had been stashed.

 

He got it out and looked at it, peering at it with interest and almost an odd amount of fear. He didn’t know what he would do without his wand – he’d had it since he was eleven, and even though since then he had learned wandless magic so he could survive – there was a thing about the wand that felt like a magical security blanket.  

 

He grimaced slightly as he snapped it in half.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

 

Even though he had majority of his clothing that he needed at Dexter’s, he had no idea how long he would be staying there but had decided it was safer if he overpacked, he ended up heading home every so often to check on things – to make sure nobody had attacked his house in a fit of rage because he had decided to let his work phone go dead for the time being.

 

When he walked through the front door, he could hear conversation abruptly stop. It made him stop as well and he turned and looked in the kitchen.

 

There sat Ron and Hermione, drinking tea and nibbling on pieces of toast. They looked shocked, and there was something in Hermione’s expression that suggested frustration.

 

It made Harry nervous, especially knowing how much his two friends had been working recently – if it had anything to do with the Asesino case he really didn’t want to be involved in Hermione’s venting.

 

“Hello Harry,” Hermione said in a clipped tone, she sounded just as annoyed and frustrated as she looked and something in Harry’s chest stirred – he felt anxious and almost like he was heading into battle.

 

“Hey Hermione,” Harry said, walking slowly into the kitchen, prepared to make a quick exit through the nearest window if necessary – because Hermione’s first move would be to lock the front door if it meant he had been caught.

 

“Where have you been lately?” Hermione asked, “we haven’t seen you in _days_.”

 

“Yeah mate,” Ron pitched in, his mouth full of buttery toast which made Harry’s stomach grumble slightly – apparating made him hungry, “we thought you were here this entire time to be honest-.”

 

He turned to Hermione and the look on her face suggested that she wasn’t happy Ron had revealed that information.

 

“Why does it matter where I’ve gone?” Harry asked, starting to get angry himself, “why do you guys have to keep tabs on me all the time? I’m not exactly a child anymore,” Harry snapped.

 

The look on Ron’s face showed that he wanted to say something, but he’d have to be blind to not see the look on Hermione’s face, that was bluntly telling him to not say anything else, at all, not just about the situation at hand or whatever was ticking Hermione off.

 

“We care about you Harry,” she said slowly, trying to sound calm, but Harry wasn’t stupid – she knew something. He just had to figure out whether he was safe or whether he was about to be cornered.

 

“Oh really,” Harry snorted, “do tell.”

 

She continued to glare at him and not say a word, so he smirked and shook his head slowly.

 

“Great job, really,” he muttered before turning towards the stairs with intentions to head to his room.

 

“Harry, we know.”

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Dexter walked into the lab early that morning and was startled by the fact that Debra was sitting and waiting in his chair.

 

“Hey Dex,” she said, spinning slowly around in the chair. It bothered Dexter slightly but he didn’t bother commenting on it. Instead, he headed over to Masuoka’s lab and stole his spare chair and wheeled it into his lab.

 

“You seem cheerful this morning,” Debra said, peering at him suspiciously and almost with fear – like he was a bomb that was about to explode.

 

Dexter nodded, “well, I feel good this morning,” he shrugged, “I’ve been enjoying Harry’s company.”

 

He logged into his work laptop and opened a folder which contained files about their latest case.

 

“So, do you have anything new on Kaitlin Tibbetts?” Dexter asked, not really concentrating – he was too busy thinking about breakfast that morning and how they hadn’t really had that much time to eat.

 

“Nothing much,” Debra said, biting her lip before handing Dexter a manila folder. He opened it slowly with a confused look on his face and put it on the desk in front of him.

 

It contained a bunch of loose papers and notes all with Debra’s familiar handwriting, though with the words they were spelling out it almost looked crazed – conspiracy theories only half investigated and connected on if all their latest cases were connected.

 

“Debra, when did you write all of this stuff?” Dexter muttered, scanning the pages – he could see a shot from a grainy video camera of a blonde man walking a girl away – Kaitlin Tibbetts it appeared to be – stapled messily was a note attached, talking about Kaitlin’s odd behaviour before being taken away.

 

Debra sighed, “I wrote it a while ago, I was getting sick of how we were all stranded on this one – I had a few drinks one night and I started going through video surveillance tapes, writing notes and ideas down, etcetera.”

 

Dexter nodded, “if this was just drunken frustration then why are you showing it to me?” he asked.

 

Debra snatched the folder back and held it to her chest like it was something precious, other than slightly insane ramblings from an angry cop.

 

“Because,” she snapped, “I think I have a point somewhere in there – I think everything is connected somehow. I’m not saying it’s all the same guy, but I definitely have an inkling it’s some form of organisation.”

 

“I think you’re just looking for answers Deb,” Dexter said with a small shrug, “it has been a while since your last promotion.”

 

Debra sat up then, pushing his chair into the chair he had stolen from Masuoka, “fuck you,” she muttered, walking out of the room, “also, before I forget,” she said, her voice sounding acidic, “when the fuck are you going to introduce me to this Harry guy.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry was sitting in between his two friends feeling like a scolded child. Like he’d broken something expensive and blamed it on the family dog when his parents had known about it all along – though of course, Harry had never really had to deal with that sort of thing, but he could imagine how the situation felt something like this one.

 

“Are you going to explain what came over you to do something like this?” Hermione asked. For once she didn’t sound angry, she just sounded confused and concerned.

 

“I don’t know what to say, to be honest,” Harry muttered, looking down at the table in shame.

 

He heard Hermione sigh, “Harry, you’re not stupid, you probably had some plan in your mind when you did this,” she laughed, “in fact, I’m certain – otherwise you would have gotten caught a whole lot sooner.”

 

Harry looked around, looking around at the house that he had earned, with the money he had been making. The house lately had started feeling dirty, like he had cheated. It felt greasy and all wrong to him, and he wished he could just burn the place to the ground.

 

“After the war,” Harry started, daring himself to look up. He had to look up and try and get his point across – especially if there was some form of chance Hermione wasn’t going to report him to the wizarding authorities, “I just felt empty all the time. I knew that there was something wrong with me, something inside me that was…I don’t know…broken,” he looked up, feeling a little proud of himself, but then when he saw the looks on his friends' faces, that pride in himself was gone.

 

“So, I left you all and decided to pursue a career in America. In one of the cities with the highest crime rates.”

 

Ron let out a low whistle, which Harry was thankful for – it felt a little like old times, it made him feel comfortable.

 

Hermione was sitting there looking torn, and he knew now was the time for Hermione to decide whether friendship or morals was more important to her.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am this cruel with my chapters.

Chapter Twenty-Three

 

 

“I hope you know I’m probably going to lose my job.”


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for my mean chapter, here is a chapter worth about 2000 words;
> 
> also, keep your eyes open. See if you see any similarities between this chapter and the last ;)

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

 

Harry stayed at his place that night, he slept in the lounge room with Ron and Hermione, who were enjoying Harry’s DVD collection. They’d cooked popcorn and everything.

 

It unsettled Harry if he was honest; he had just admitted to being a hitman, a serial killer, and now his two best friends were putting their jobs on the line – but they weren’t showing that they cared. They were sitting in his lounge room watching his movies and eating popcorn they’d bought.

 

He was happy but it was part of the reason Harry pretended to be asleep throughout all the movies that they watched. He needed to be alone, but he had promised he would stop secluding himself from them – that they were still his friends.

 

He had explained that he only killed certain people that fit the contracts that he wanted – bad people, people who were mostly fucking up society.

 

They had given him a massive lecture, by them he meant Hermione, which had led to a slap on the wrist and Hermione saying, “I understand where you’re coming from – but you went the wrong way about it.”

 

Everything felt wrong.

 

But he couldn’t think of any type of ulterior motive the two of them might have.

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

The next morning, Harry was free to leave the house – nobody said as such, but when he went out the front door, nobody exactly stopped him so he assumed it was all good.

 

He went to his hidden spot and apparated, which was a lot harder without his wand, but he was still capable of doing it – it had been the first thing he had taught himself to do wandless.

 

He ended up beside Dexter’s apartment building and headed up the stairs, he was hoping Dexter had already started breakfast – apparating still made him hungry.

 

He knocked on the door and was shocked to find it bounce away slightly when his fist made contact – it was open.

 

Harry felt alarm instantly flare up. Dexter was a lot better with his security – especially after the hitman incident that had occurred while Harry had been here. He opened the door wider, keeping himself braced for whatever may attack him.

 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been expecting Dexter.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Debra sat her computer, tired and annoyed. Looking through the same camera footage. At least she had gotten through someone’s head – people were now on the lookout for the blonde-haired man that had appeared in the video. But Debra’s issue now was, that if it was in fact an organisation, they might never send out that guy again.

 

Everything the force tried to do was leading to some form of dead end.

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry found himself pressed up against a wall, and not in the sexy way either. He couldn’t breathe and his eyes were starting to water, everything felt tight, he wondered if this was how he was going to die.

 

“Who are you,” Dexter said. He sounded angry and confused, which only showed just how dangerous he was right now.

 

Harry tried to pull Dexter’s hands away from his throat so he could talk, Dexter removed his hands eventually and Harry felt all the strength leave him. His back dragged against the wall as he fell to the floor, trying to catch his breath.

 

“I’m going to ask you again,” Dexter muttered darkly, “who. Are. You?”

 

“I don’t quite understand what you mean,” Harry rasped, “you know me Dexter, you know-.”

 

“But Debra doesn’t know you,” Dexter said, cutting him off, “and I can tell by your expression that you know that.”

 

Harry could only think of one word in that moment; _fuck_.

 

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Dexter said darkly, “otherwise your friends are never going to see you again.”

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry couldn’t really think of how cliché the phrase that Dexter had said was, all he could do was sit down on the familiar lounge room couch that had originally only held good memories, until now, and rub his throat. It burned, and sometimes breathing became difficult, but he was sure that had more to do with his incoming panic attack.

 

“Explain.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, dropped his hand and tried hard not to cry. He knew this was going to happen eventually, but he had expected Dexter to be dead by his hand – he had never expected the two of them to get this far in _any_ type of relationship.

 

“I…have certain talents that allow me to get far in life,” Harry muttered, “they’re not illegal, they’re just not supposed to be showed off.”

 

Dexter snorted, “what, like magical powers or some bullshit?”

 

Harry shook his head, feeling amused, of course Dexter would get it on the first go.

 

“Ding, ding, ding,” Harry raised his hand and made a folder on Dexter’s desk float in the air windlessly, “we have a winner,” he said, watching Dexter’s expression go from livid to shock.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

“Hermione, have you seen Harry?”

 

Ron walked into the lounge room and found Hermione on the couch reading some massive tome of a book, the title didn’t look familiar whatsoever to Ron, but admittedly that didn’t surprise him.

 

Hermione looked up, looking a little out of it – she’d immersed herself into the book obviously and had forgotten that people were still in the house.

 

“No, I haven’t, I thought you were keeping an eye on him today?” Hermione asked, sounding a little irritated, “I thought you were going to go to that café with him-.”

 

Ron rolled his eyes, “yes Hermione, I was – but I got distracted, alright?”

 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, “with what?”

 

Ron sighed, “I went for a shower, that’s all.”

 

Ron knew Hermione had every reason to be suspicious of him. A few years ago, he had been caught flirting with a few of the women in his division – not just playful I-need-a-promotion flirting; genuine flirting. Ron still felt bad and he had no idea what had been going through his head at the time of doing it – he had a beautiful wife; why would he feel the need to flirt or cheat on her with another woman?

 

Though sometimes, he wondered, with the way she was constantly asking about Harry…

 

“Why do you worry about Harry so much anyway?” Ron snapped suddenly, giving her a filthy look.

 

Hermione made a loud noise of disbelief, “I beg your pardon?”

 

“You heard me,” Ron said, leaning on the back of the couch, his knuckles turning white slightly, “whenever we were home, you were _always_ worried about Harry, wondering what he was doing, wondering when we would see him next-.”

 

Hermione sighed, “you’re reading too far into things-.”

 

“Then you are too!” Ron snared, “I will never, ever forget that time after sex-.”

 

Hermione stood up then, putting the book down onto the couch, “really Ronald, you’re bringing this up now?” she looked irritated and like he was wasting her time, which only succeeded to make Ron’s blood boil further, “you’re really going to bring this up in Harry’s _house_ of all places? Do you want _him_ to know how many issues we’re having?”

 

“I don’t care what he knows!” Ron dug his nails into the back of the couch, “what were your intentions in coming here Hermione.”

 

There was a silence between the two of them, something deep – it was like all the sound had been sucked out from the world and if anything were to make a loud sudden noise, the Earth would break into billions of small sharp pieces. It was frightening.

 

“To do my job Ron,” Hermione said. There was something in her voice that suggested that she pitied Ron, instead of angering him however, it made him calm down, it made him feel like he’d let her down, “I know you’re trying to pin your guilt onto me somehow, but don’t you dare insinuate things that aren’t there,” she said sternly.

 

Ron waited for her to say something else.

 

She picked up her book from the couch and held it close to her chest.

 

“And even if those types of feelings were there Ronald – at least I never acted on them.”

 

She walked out of the lounge room and headed up the stairs to what he assumed was the spare room that they had been staying in. He would have followed her up there, tried to put his point across, but he couldn’t help but feel wounded – those words had cut through him like a knife.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

“How the fuck can you do that?”

 

Harry laughed slightly. He was moving things around the room with his hand and Dexter was simply watching fascinated – like he had completely forgotten about why Harry had had to show him this in the first place.

 

Harry realised he could have easily gotten Dexter off him somehow, flinging him across the room, the cruciatus curse, even a confundus charm – but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

 

He loved Dexter.

 

“Just…I guess you could say I was born with it,” Harry said, giving a small shrug, his lack of concentration meant he dropped the photo with Dexter and Debra in it and it crashed to the ground, the glass smashing.

 

“Oh shit,” Dexter muttered, noticing that the photo had ripped, “I’ll have to make another copy-.”

 

“No need,” Harry said, standing up. He walked over to where the damage had been done and magically fixed both the picture and the glass of the frame that held it.

 

“That’s…” Dexter nodded as if that accurately finished his sentence.

 

Harry went to sit back down on the couch but then he heard Dexter say; “we still need to talk. There’s quite a few things I still don’t understand.”

 

Harry sighed in exhaustion, “such as?”

 

“Why me,” Dexter said, “you obviously… _magically_ confused my sister into thinking she knew you. But she didn’t, and when I questioned her she didn’t even know we were dating – she thought I had made a _friend_.”

 

Harry bit his lip.

 

“You were obviously up to something,” Dexter said, sitting down on the couch. Harry noticed that he wasn’t invited over, “what were you up to, why did you need to get to me?”

 

Harry sighed and walked over to a blank piece of wall, the same piece of wall that he had been pinned against previously – he leaned on it and crossed his arms, almost defensively.

 

“I told you I was a hit man – well, two people want you dead,” Harry said, trying hard to look Dexter in the eye, but he was finding it difficult, “I’m a hit man. In fact, I’m pretty sure that one of the cases you’re working on right now involves myself – except I changed my appearance.”

 

“You were going to kill me,” Dexter said, almost sounding amused.

 

“I was getting paid to,” Harry said, “and I thought the way to get under a man’s skin, a way to get yourself off his radar, was to…make him fall for you,” Harry shrugged, “unfortunately, it didn’t quite work in my favour.”

 

Dexter frowned, “why’s that?” he asked. Harry noticed that Dexter didn’t deny that he had fallen for Harry.

 

“Because I fell for you too,” Harry said, “dickhead.”

 

There was a moment of silence while the two of them tried to figure out what this confession meant to them in this situation.

 

“Are you the man who took Kaitlin Tibbetts to her death?” Dexter asked slowly.

 

Harry nodded, “not only that, but I also killed her.”

 

“Because someone had a hit on her?”

 

Harry nodded slowly, “you’re looking at the sibling – he was angry and he ordered I kill her. So, I did, got a lot of money for it too. Maybe a little too much – I donated some of it back to the hospitals funding – the one she was being treated at.”

 

Dexter snorted, “philanthropic hitman.”

 

Harry laughed.

 

There was an awkward silence again and Harry didn’t know what to say – so he brought up his confession.

 

“Where do we stand now?” Harry asked, sounding nervous about what Dexter’s answer might be, “I mean – do I just walk out of here? Do you kill me? Hand me into police and say I confessed to everything and try to figure out a way to explain why I was suddenly blonde-?”

 

“No,” Dexter said, he shook his head and stood up, “were you being genuine when you said you’d fallen for me?”

 

Harry nodded slowly.

 

“I…yeah okay,” Dexter sighed and rubbed his eyes – he looked exhausted.

 

Harry waited and waited but the man didn’t seem to want to say anything.

 

“So…” Harry tried to push him into saying something, “what now Dexter Morgan?”

 

Dexter looked up, looking determined and like he had come to a decision.

 

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Dexter said, “but I need you to be careful if you’re going to keep doing what you’re doing-.”

 

“No,” Harry said, “this is it. This is the end of it. I’m going to give that Violet woman her money back, and if she sends someone else after you, I’m going to be here to help take them down.”

 

“I’m withholding so much evidence, you don’t even understand,” Dexter said, “I hope you know I’m probably going to lose my job.”

 

Harry nodded solemnly, “am I worth the risk?”

 

Dexter pondered the question for a moment, Harry could feel himself start to sweat nervously, but eventually, Dexter nodded.   


“Yes, yes you are.”


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look at that - a new chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

 

Harry woke up slowly. He had stayed at Dexter’s for the night – it felt safer to him somehow – his own house nowadays intimidated him greatly, and he had no idea whether it was because of how he earned the house or because of who was currently staying in it.

 

He felt an arm wrap around his waist tightly and he felt himself deflate – this was what he wanted and needed right now – it was perfect.

 

He looked around the room and found his overnight bag stuffed with clothes in the corner – it had been moved, but for some reason, Harry could tell it hadn’t been done angrily – dejectedly was the word that came to mind, and it broke his heart.

 

How could he have hurt a man like that? Anyone like that? Old him would have been able to bring up a reason exactly how and why – but this Harry, the real Harry, couldn’t. He was in love with this man – this man who was easily just as dark as he once was, and despite Harry having changed he was ready to accept Dexter no matter what.

 

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Dexter said, sounding slightly amused in his half-asleep state.

 

Harry chuckled deeply and turned in Dexter’s arms.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Dexter asked, sounding genuinely curious but Harry could see on his face he was trying to hide his concern.

 

Harry shrugged and buried his face into the pillow slightly, “I promise, it’s nothing too serious.”

 

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but was too afraid to bother Harry with any more questions, which Harry was secretly relieved by, but also felt bad.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Ron and Hermione had slept in separate rooms that night, and when Hermione woke up the first thing she checked was whether Harry had come home or not. Disappointedly she noted that Harry, in fact, hadn’t come home at all.

 

“Did Harry come home at all last night?” Ron asked, biting half-heartedly into a buttered piece of toast.

 

Hermione shook her head and continued to mix her cereal into her milk.

 

Ron shook his head and sighed and muttered something that sounded like, ‘of course you would know.’

 

“Do you really want to start a fight right now Ron?” Hermione asked, sounding tired. She’d barely slept last night – had, in fact, spent the majority of the night crying. She hadn’t known why either – it was too many things hitting her at once. Her job, her best friend – missing, her husband – jealous and hating her while also being a cheating bastard.

 

Ron sighed and took an overdramatic bite of his toast, looking down at the table they were sitting at.

 

“No,” he muttered, sounding sheepish.

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

It had been three days when Harry eventually returned to his home.

 

When he walked through the front door the place was quiet except for music playing upstairs. He could tell instantly it was from one of the spare rooms – it was sad music for lonely people. It made Harry frown and he slowly headed up the stairs.

 

He got onto the second floor and turned down one of the halls until he reached a door on the left, he knocked quietly at first but received no response. He knocked harder that time and the door flew open.

 

In front of him, Hermione stood in pyjamas that looked like they had seen better days, her hair a mess and makeup on her face from days earlier.

 

“Hermione, what happened?”

 

Hermione shook her head and headed back to the bed, which was covered in books, magazines, DVDs and empty food packages – also a box of half melted chocolate ice cream that was threatening to spill all over the white carpet below.

 

She left the door open so Harry followed her inside, making room so he would be able to sit on the end of the bed like Hermione had done not too long ago.

 

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked, looking around the room as if he would find Ron hiding behind the curtains, or behind the bookshelf.

 

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly, “he’s gone.”

 

She looked out the window, whether it was to avoid further or questioning or just to make sure she didn’t cry in front of Harry, Harry wasn’t sure, but the latter failed as she started to sniffle and rub hastily at her eyes, which looked red and a little swollen, like she’d had an allergic reaction to something.

 

“It’s okay, I’m sure you guys are going to figure it all out-.”

 

“No,” she said, “I can’t. I can’t figure it out with him Harry – I can’t stay married to a man I can’t trust.”

 

Harry didn’t know what to say – especially considering Harry felt like there was something more there, something that he didn’t know about.

 

Harry sighed and bit his lip nervously, trying to figure out what to say next, the only thing he could come up with, though, was, “is there something I don’t know about, Hermione? Something that Ron’s done that I don’t know about?”

 

She grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and loudly blew her nose. The noise that came out was something that Harry normally would have found funny – but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh at his friend while she was in this state.

 

“At work, there were always a few times where he wouldn’t meet up with me for lunch – which I was fine. I assumed he was maybe hanging around with a few mates, like Dean and Seamus – or even his brother,” she mumbled, throwing the tissue in the direction of the bin, and surprising to Harry – she actually got it in the bin.

 

“Okay…” Harry said, trying to urge her to continue.

 

“But then, you know, I got a letter from someone I worked with,” she said, her voice shaky and nervous, “they said they had tried to contact me earlier but I hadn’t been in my office at the time so they’d decided to leave a note instead, explaining that at lunch Ron had walked up to them and a few of their work friends, and her younger daughter by the way,” she laughed darkly, “and started flirting with the lot of them. Serious flirting.”

 

Harry waited.

 

“I originally thought nothing of it, I even spied on him one lunch when he couldn’t make it and thought, ‘no, he’s just being friendly,’ but…” she paused, “but then one night, he went out with a few friends apparently, and something felt really off,” she shuddered, “so I admit – I followed him. To a bar near the ministry of magic, and there he was chatting up one of the girls from the Department of Magical Education.”

 

Harry was starting to feel uncomfortable, and more than a little angry at Ron.

 

“Ever since then, I feel like I can no longer trust him – and the thing is, he’s tried to say I’m guilty of doing the same thing,” Hermione rolled her eyes, sniffing again, “with work friends of mine, especially Matheus who is a junior editor for the Daily Prophet. He even tried to insinuate that…you and I…” she gestured between the two of them and then shook her head, “I can’t win with him. If I look at a man for two seconds I’m a whore.”

 

“He’s being an idiot Hermione,” Harry admitted. He wasn’t sure how to comfort Hermione, but he thought his honest opinion wasn’t likely to stir her up too much, “it’s up to you whether you wait for him to calm down and then talk it out…or if you…you know.”

 

Hermione laughed, “I’ve already tried to talk to him about it, but he just gets angry and tries to push everything onto me.”

 

She reached under the bed and pulled out a folder – in the folder was a bunch of papers, Harry read the top of one of the pages and it said; ‘Magical Marriage Separation Certificate Documentation.’

 

“It’s been going on for a while Harry,” Hermione said with a disappointed sigh, “I just can’t deal with it anymore. I’m done.”


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is what I'd like to call a filler. I hope the next chapter will be a lot better than this one.
> 
> I'm sorry that I haven't updated a lot quicker, I had a touch of writers' block and then there was also the fact that I slept over at my sisters' house for two nights and she doesn't have wifi.
> 
> Hope I'll update a lot quicker this time.

Chapter Twenty-Six

 

 

Harry had a billion questions for Ron if he were to ever set foot in his house again, but Harry felt like he wasn’t going to have that problem for a while. He laid in his bed that morning pondering all the information he had gotten from Hermione – he felt like his perception of Ron had changed – he had always thought Ron and Hermione had been happy. Together forever and all that romantic bullshit that he didn’t know whether he believed in, maybe he had told himself that he didn’t believe in true love for him so he’d simply stay out of trouble – so life around him wouldn’t get sticky. But it seemed he’d done that all himself anyway, and, yeah Dexter was great – but he had to be realistic.

 

If Harry had known that Hermione and Ron were having troubles – he would never have left the wizarding world in favour for the American, muggle world. He would have stayed behind and been supportively backing the person who was on the right side – in this case, it was Hermione – and then he wouldn’t have left until he was sure everything was settled.

 

Harry turned onto his side and looked at his alarm clock, only then realising it was repetitively flashing 12:00 at him. He sighed and dug into the drawer instead, pulling out his work phone which was dead. He couldn’t be bothered going around searching for his regular phone, so he put the phone on charge and waited for it to turn on.

 

As soon as it did, it started beeping with a bunch of different text and notification tones – he sighed and looked – they were all from Violet, asking when everything was going to be done with her task and whether she needed to threaten to hire someone else again.

 

He was tempted to text her back, and he had just opened his messages to send one to Violet when the phone started ringing in his hand – speak of the devil and they’re sure to appear.

 

“Hello, Violet.”

 

“ _Hi_ , _have you done as I’ve asked?_ ”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, “whatever do you mean?”

 

There was an aggravated sigh and he heard something smash in the background, hopefully, nothing too precious.

 

“ _You know exactly what I mean asshole! I asked you to kill Dexter Morgan-.”_

“And I’ve decided against it. Sorry about that,” Harry laid back on the bed, put one of his knees up and crossed the other leg over it, “feel free to take your business anywhere else – but I’ll have you know, you’re probably not going to be successful.”

 

There was a growl and something went bang. It sounded like a gunshot. She was her father’s daughter for sure – he had a fondness for guns as well.

 

“ _Asesino, I swear to God-_.”

 

“God’s dead, goodbye,” Harry hung up and quickly turned off the phone for good measure. He had known charging it and turning it on had been a big mistake. He put the phone back in the drawer and fished out the other one. It was on 50% which was plenty of charge to quickly text Dexter;

 

_Coming over_

_Mind if I bring a friend?_

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

That was how Harry and Hermione ended up sitting in Dexter’s lounge room as he made Hermione a cup of tea – it had been hard to get her out of the house, she was still and emotional wreck, which was the reason why Harry hadn’t had the heart to leave her at home alone. At least she could still be an emotional wreck with Harry around.

 

Dexter had been nice enough to make Hermione a cup of tea, but you could tell that he felt awkward with Hermione there. Harry wanted to explain somehow that Hermione knew everything, she knew about the Asesino thing, she knew that he wanted to stop and she wasn’t going to tell the ministry about it either.

 

But he felt too awkward bringing it up.

 

Hermione seemed to sense this all too, “I’m sorry,” she muttered quietly to Harry, looking down, “I shouldn’t have come – I should have stayed in bed.”

 

Harry shook his head, “no way was I leaving you in bed all day – you can’t stop living Hermione; just because all of this crap is going on.”

 

She snuffled, “it’s not that I’m no longer living – I’m just tired Harry-.”

 

“What exactly happened between you and your husband anyway?”

 

They both looked up suddenly, just as Dexter sat down in an armchair – something that Harry had rarely seen occupied.

 

Hermione sniffled and dove into the pocket of her jeans to bring out a rather used looking tissue – Dexter reached behind him to the bookshelf and produced a fresh one for her, which she took gratefully.

 

“He’s just…not the man I married if I’m completely honest,” Hermione said awkwardly, looking anywhere but at Dexter. Harry wanted to say that she could trust Dexter – he might not experience these romantically linked insecurities, but he was good to vent to anyway.

 

“Basically, Ron has been massively flirtatious with other people and it’s getting to the point where it looks like he really wanted to cheat on her,” Harry said hastily, trying hard to not look at Hermione who he was sure was glaring at him from underneath her frizzy, messy hair. Especially with the fact that her finger nails were currently digging into his knee – he knew she was bothered by the fact that he had taken over.

 

“Then, he started blaming her for everything and insinuating that she, too, was romantically interested in somebody else who wasn’t Ron, and was ready to cheat on him also,” Harry said, biting his lower lip. Saying it hurt him slightly as well – knowing that this is what his best friend had reduced himself to, “he’s always been like that – trying to blame other people for his problems’, admittedly I’d assumed he would have grown out of it by now.”

 

Dexter nodded slowly, trying to let it all sink in. Harry could tell he was trying to search for the right response, but nothing was really coming up.

 

“By the way, don’t feel so awkward, Hermione knows, uh, everything about me.”

 

Dexter’s eyes widened and he looked at Hermione, who was looking down at her knees.

 

He nodded slowly at Harry and visibly began to relax.

 

Hermione sighed, “I think it’s just time I moved on.”

 

Dexter gave Harry a look as if seeking approval for what he was about to say. Harry gave him a small inconspicuous nod.

 

“I agree.”


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been able to write or post anything, simply because of the fact that I got new acrylic nails and it's hard to type.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

 

Hermione had gone back home to England, to make sure herself and Ron settled the divorce correctly. The way she saw it, there was no point in sitting in America, talking about a divorce that, from her position, was never going to happen. Harry agreed and watched her disapparate with a feeling of melancholy. It took him a while to realise that he had been enjoying Hermione’s company, especially seeing as she knew everything. There was nothing to hide and he had no longer felt nervous around her.

 

The house felt empty and cold now, other than the maid who seemed to refuse to be around Harry nowadays – but she admittedly still did her job of cleaning the house and that was good enough for Harry. He ended up going to Dexter’s apartment a lot – to pass the time, and so he wouldn’t feel so alone.

 

“How has work been?” Harry asked, putting the TV on mute, “have they discovered anything new about me yet?”

 

“Debra is still stuck – which is going in your favour, because she doesn’t want to make a fool of herself, so she isn’t sharing her theories with anyone right now,” Dexter said, he was in the kitchen cooking dinner.

 

“So, everything is going in my favour?” Harry asked, double checking.

 

“Well,” Dexter sighed, “Debra did share one image – a photo taken from video footage – road cams.”

 

Harry nodded, “but it doesn’t look anything like me, I’ll be fine.”

 

Dexter continued to cook in silence for a moment.

 

“I hope so.”

 

 

(***)

 

 

Something that had been plaguing Harry for the last few days was the fact that he no longer had a job. Of course, to any form of taxation office he didn’t exist, and if he was honest he didn’t have to pay for anything – a little bit of magic could get him out of any sticky situation – it was more about the fact that he had nothing to do while Dexter was at work – he felt like a bored housewife, but he didn’t even have to cook, clean or even stay home and look pretty.

 

He sat in his room now, laptop open on his lap. He was looking at advertisements for jobs, but he knew it was all pretty pointless. He wasn’t supposed to exist.

 

He almost wanted to get caught for all the crimes he had admitted. It would be so much more interesting than what he was doing right now – looking at jobs that he would never be able to qualify for – both because he didn’t exist, and because he certainly wasn’t qualified.

 

At that moment, his phone rang. He looked down at the caller ID and smiled. Pressing the green answer button, he put the phone up to his ear.

 

“Hey Dexter,” Harry said, closing his laptop and pushing it onto the other side of his bed as he sat on the edge, “what’s up?”

 

The tone that Dexter used was dark and his voice was hushed, which immediately filled Harry with worry.

 

“You’re in danger,” Dexter said, “there’s a bunch of official looking men here, I think they’re your people.”

 

Harry frowned, his heart rate picking up, he found himself speaking in a hushed, dark tone as well.

 

“How do you know?” Harry asked, hoping against hope that Dexter didn’t say what he thought he was about to say.

 

“They mentioned your name.”

 

Harry swallowed harshly – he only just heard Dexter mutter something about having to go, and a quick, practically non-exist ‘I love you,’ before the man hung up on him.

 

Maybe he’d joked too soon about the possibility of getting caught.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, hi there!
> 
> Sorry about the long delay.
> 
> I've had a fun couple of months, some fun things, some sad things, and then just depression. 
> 
> But, I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter and the chapters to follow, because as I've always said, I'm not going to leave a fanfic unfinished on this website.
> 
> Please comment if you're still here, a faithful reader.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

 

 _They mentioned your name_ …

 

Harry couldn’t sleep. He kept hearing things outside of the apartment and they would make him panic. He would keep thinking about the words Dexter had said over and over. He would keep thinking about the headlines that would happen in the newspapers if they found out the truth; **Harry Potter Gone Rogue – Even Worse Than the Dark Lord?** And he bet, knowing his luck, that article would be written by Rita Skeeter herself.

 

He turned over again and stared at the wardrobe – he knew inside it was a heavy chest and inside was all of Dexter’s knives. He’d never been one for knives personally, though sometimes he had wanted to try to see if he could enjoy it past the typical ‘it’s my only option’ scenario.

 

He sighed again and turned onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. Not that it was particularly interesting – it was a simply white and in the middle, was a centred light bulb – nothing too unusual, no dead bodies in the attic or anything like that, for two reasons; Dexter didn’t have an attic and he would never be that careless.

 

He wanted to turn over again but he didn’t want to wake up Dexter, who had had a hard time getting to sleep until Harry had slipped him a dreamless sleep potion in his seventh mug of coffee for the night. Harry would have taken it himself if he hadn’t been in danger.

 

There was another sound outside that causes Harry to jump and start breathing rapidly, sharp, painful breaths that made him feel shaky and lightheaded. He told himself to stop being stupid – that if there was any noise it would be the loud pop of ministry wizards apparating onto the scene and needn’t worry about that.

 

He closed his eyes and tried to tell his brain to shut up.

 

He didn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

 

When Dexter got up, Harry was sitting at the breakfast bar, looking like absolute death, and chugging coffee as if it were a lifeline. Dexter frowned and got behind the counter to make his own morning coffee.

 

“How did you sleep?” Dexter asked, sounding suspicious.

 

Harry shrugged, “fine, how did you sleep?”

 

Dexter sighed, “actually, amazingly. One of the best sleeps I’ve had in a long time.”

 

Harry nodded and went to take a sip, before realising that he had already emptied his mug.

 

“What did you put in my drink?” Dexter asked at a joke, and was genuinely shocked by Harry’s answer.

 

“Dreamless sleep,” Harry muttered, “it’s helped me out a few times before – so I thought it would help you out,” he shrugged, “just wanted to make sure you were well rested for work today.”

 

Dexter nodded slowly and bit his lip, “I’m not going into work today.”

 

Harry cocked up a brow while getting up to put his mug in the sink, that or make himself another coffee, “and why’s that?” he asked.

“Because,” Dexter turned around to face him, leaning back on the bench, “I need to make sure that you’re going to be safe.”

 

Harry looked at him, his eyes wide open. They were exhausted and the man, admittedly, looked like he was going to cry. Whether it was from the exhaustion, what Dexter had said, or the impending doom surrounding him; Dexter wasn’t altogether sure why he had tears in his eyes.

 

“Whether or not you’re here, I’m screwed Dexter,” Harry said, his voice shaky, a tear rolled down his cheek and landed somewhere on his pyjama shirt, “what I did – it’s all on me – I knew that one day I was either going to be caught, or get killed, or something like that. I knew someone, _something_ like me wasn’t going to be able to one day retire peacefully when my hands shook too much to hold my wand securely,” he sighed, running a hand through his dirty, messy hair, “everything just caught up to me sooner than I thought it would,” he laughed, “it’s not a game anymore – now I’ve gotta pay for everything I’ve done.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry had apparated back to his house. He had wanted to stay there, because he couldn’t handle the thought of Dexter getting mixed up any more than he already was. If the Ministry somehow managed to track him to Dexter’s apartment, the Ministry would make Dexter forget every memory he had of Harry, and Harry didn’t want that. No, he couldn’t deal with the thought of getting locked up, knowing that Dexter had no memory of who he was.

 

That Dexter wouldn’t want him back.

 

Wouldn’t miss him…

 

There was a knock on the door and Harry felt himself jump. Now was the time, he would either somehow manage to find a way out of it, or he would get arrested for everything he’d done and dragged back to the Ministry for a trial.

 

Now was the moment.

 

He slowly headed downstairs. Taking his time to look at all the things he had accumulated over time and thinking about how he would trade everything, _everything_ in this house just to be given a second chance. A slap on the wrist and permission just to continue with his life, even if it meant saying goodbye to the wizarding world, because he had Dexter now, and if he lost Dexter he was sure he could salvage enough money to keep the place going and getting himself a proper job.

 

The knocks on the door started getting a lot more heavier and more urgent, to the point where Harry couldn’t actively ignore them anymore. With a deep sigh, he headed over to the door. He closed his eyes as he wrapped his hand around the golden door-knob, wishing, for some reason that it would break so he wouldn’t be able to open it – just another excuse to ignore everything he had done and the circumstances that would follow it.

 

He opened the door.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in a while, I've been unwell and just generally not okay. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck by this fic, thank you so much to anyone that is still interested in how this might end.
> 
> I hope to get the next chapter up soon x

Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

 

 

When Harry opened the front door to his house, he hadn’t known what to expect. A quiet arrest, several Ministry workers jumping on top of him and pegging him to the ground until he gave up or was knocked out by a stray spell. Instead, what he got when he opened the front door was a scared looking Hermione Jean Granger.

 

“What?” Harry shook his head in shock, “Hermione, you shouldn’t be here.”

 

Hermione shrugged and pushed past Harry into the house, “why not?”

 

“It’s not exactly safe for you-.”

 

“They’re coming for you Harry,” she said, her eyes wide, “I’ve been hearing about it all in the ministry – everyone’s either shocked, outraged, or saying that they knew all along you were going to become a nut-case.”

 

Harry didn’t want to admit it, but the thought of someone thinking of him like that did hurt a little.

 

Harry sat down at the dining room table, Hermione deciding to sit across from him. From habit, he wanted to ask if she wanted something to drink, but now wasn’t the time for that.

 

“I don’t know how you’re going to get out of this one Harry,” Hermione muttered, rubbing a tired hand over her face, “I know you’re constantly using disguises, and while that’s enough to confuse muggles, you cannot do it for the rest of your life – it’s not that easy to hide from wizards, especially the ministry, especially after everything that happened with Voldemort.”

 

Harry shook his head, he knew that already.

 

“Is there any way…” she bit her lip.

 

“I don’t want to bring him into this Hermione,” Harry snapped, “I couldn’t bear it if Dexter somehow got hurt or discovered in all of this.”

 

Hermione sighed. She wanted to help him, it was why she’d rushed here, but Harry had gotten himself into quite the mess.

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

It took Harry ages to get any semblance of sleep that night. He knew Hermione was just right across the hall, whether she was legitimately asleep or not was something Harry questioned.

 

Harry woke up with a start, however, when he felt a hand cover his mouth.

 

“Don’t panic,” a familiar voice above him in the darkness said before Harry could make a single sound of panic, “it’s me.”

 

Harry sighed, relieved and let the hand leave his mouth.

 

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, frowning. He sat up and turned on the lamp on the bedside table, the warm light illuminated the room, and illuminated the tan skin of the man in front of him.

 

Dexter sighed, shifting on the bed so he was sitting beside Harry, “I didn’t want you to leave.”

 

Harry laughed a cold, dead laugh, “it’s not as if I have much of a choice.”

 

Dexter didn’t say anything, he laid down and brought Harry closer to him, so they ended up in a weird half hug, half cuddle.

 

“It hurts,” he said in a bitter tone, “but I know that whatever you do will be the best decision for this kind of situation. You’ve always been smart like that.”

 

In any other situation, Harry might have felt complimented, but he couldn’t. His body started to shake and tears started to escape his eyes. He hated that he was sad about this, he hated that he was scared. Hadn’t all his victims been terrified too? Wasn’t he just getting what he deserved, what all his victims deserved? He was getting his own medicine, it was an irony that Harry couldn’t not see, but it didn’t mean he enjoyed seeing it.

 

“I don’t want to die, Dexter,” Harry muttered, “I don’t want this to be the end.”


	31. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My girlfriend says she loves you all and hope you'll all be okay after this chapter.

Chapter Thirty

 

 

Harry was running, he couldn’t breathe and there was no way he could see himself getting away this time. He couldn’t use his wand otherwise they would be able to track him, and that would defeat the purpose of running for sure. He jumped over a log and kept running, leaves, sticks and god knows, what else cracking and crumbling underneath his feet.

 

He slid, stopped and hid behind a tree, panting heavily whilst also trying to remain quiet. He was terrified as he could hear voices behind him, searching, complaining that they wouldn’t be able to find him because if he was so insane, then he would have nothing to lose.

 

Harry looked down when he noticed a stinging sensation on his leg, realising that as he had run away he had probably scratched himself with a stick or something.

 

“I see a trail of blood from here,” someone said from behind him – they sounded a lot closer than Harry had hoped they would be, and with the promise of a blood trail, it made the desire to move a lot more apparent.

 

He pushed himself off from the tree and he ran, ignoring the pain in his leg, he started running down a hill, feeling fear spike inside him as he heard someone yell from far away, and then the sound of multiple people running – running after him.

 

He ran through trees and kicked up leaves and wished he could just apparate, disappear – he was so tired of running.

 

That’s when he woke up.

 

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

 

He sat upright, the sweat on his body was just starting to turn cold and he felt a hand on his forearm – it was comforting, but it was also a reminder of the man he hadn’t been able to shake off – the man who, if he was caught with Harry, would be forced to forget Harry’s very existence.

 

“Are you okay?” Dexter asked, leaning over slightly and looking Harry in the eye.

 

Harry didn’t want to admit it, but no, he wasn’t okay, he was terrified – but they had spoken about all that last night, he didn’t really want to go over it again. It was really hard trying to break down walls just so he could be honest with people – to expose feelings he had worked so, so very hard to keep down, tucked away, away from prying eyes.

 

“I’m something,” Harry muttered before flopping back onto the mattress, “but you already knew that.”

 

Dexter nodded and laid back down beside Harry. If Harry didn’t know any better he would almost think the man was concerned.

 

“I want to disappear,” Harry said, more to himself than to Dexter, “I need to disappear. Hermione can’t get hurt because she’s affiliated with me and you can’t either.”

 

“I won’t get hurt-.”

 

“They’ll force you to forget me,” Harry snapped, “they’ll force you to forget me because they’ll figure out that you know about me, and therefore you’ll know about the wizarding world.”

 

Dexter sighed, Harry turned over and faced the wall, looking at all the things on his desk – there were books and papers stacked everywhere, a bunch of pens and even old quills that Harry had decided to use up because it would have been wasteful if he hadn’t – his life has been good, he’d been able to sate the monster inside him and then enjoy the time he had doing things he hadn’t had the time to enjoy back when he was in school – between classes and trying to save a world that had now turned against him you didn’t really have much time to enjoy hobbies – but now he was going to lose all of that.

 

Harry still couldn’t figure out whether he would get locked up, or whether they would just straight up kill him for everything that he had done.

 

He had spoken to Hermione about it and her thoughts were that he might just end up getting locked up for a while simply because the crimes that he had committed weren’t against anyone in the wizarding world, which in Harry’s honest opinion was quite shitty thinking but if it worked in his favour, then he wasn’t going to kick up a fuss about it now, was he.

 

“I think, in a way, I might want to forget about you,” Dexter said suddenly. Harry froze and slowly turned over to face him.

 

“What?”

 

“Hear me out,” Dexter said slowly as if trying to think of the words to say before he said them, “if someone you loved got hurt or taken away from you, and you had the chance to forget about all of it, wouldn’t you go for it?”

 

Harry didn’t say anything.

 

“You wouldn’t have to remember them getting hurt, you wouldn’t have to remember them dying or getting ripped away from you-you wouldn’t have to remember about not getting a say in it – you wouldn’t have to remember them.”

 

There was a moment of silence between them where Harry couldn’t even hear Dexter breathing.

 

“But I want you to remember me.”

 

Dexter sighed.

 

“I want to be remembered,” Harry muttered, “who is going to remember me if not you?”

 

Dexter almost laughed, “the entire wizarding world.”

 

Harry shook his head.

 

“No, who is going to remember me as something _good_ , if not you?”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

**Will & Testaments of Harry James Potter, born on the 31st of July 1980.**

**_All my money is to be left with Hermione Jean Granger, who is to do with it whatever she sees fit, whether that be keeping it for her own personal financial gain, or donating it to charities that she sees worthy of the extra gold._ **

****

**_My estate and everything in it is to be given to Hermione Jean Granger, as she will know what to do with it when the time comes; she knows everything I wish to do with it and everyone I wish to give it to._ **

****

**_Any debts I have are to be paid with my remaining gold and to be paid before any of my money is given to Hermione Jean Granger, for I do not desire for her to pay off my debts._ **

****

**_My one, final wish, is that Dexter Morgan, a muggle who knows entirely too much, have his memory left alone – he can be trusted with the secrets bestowed upon him._ **

****

**_~~And I don’t want him to forget about me~~ _ **

****

(***)

 

 

Harry had everything he thought he would need. He had clothes, weapons, food, water – but he didn’t have his friends to guide him, and that something that was going to cause a struggle and he knew it.

 

“I can come with you for some part of the way,” Hermione said. It wouldn’t be the first time they had to run away from the ministry – though admittedly the last time they had done it the ministry had been corrupted and they were trying to defeat Voldemort.

 

“I can’t let you come with me,” Harry said, trying to keep the emotional strain out of his voice – he didn’t want to admit it to himself but the fact was there; he really wanted to cry right now.

 

Hermione sighed, she knew Harry was going to be stubborn about it, and sometimes she admired his stubborn personality – but this was one of those times where she just wished he wouldn’t, “I’m not going to get hurt Harry, I’m a lot smarter than you when it comes to stuff like this, I’d be able to,-.”

 

“I said no,” Harry snapped.

 

Hermione noticeably deflated.

 

“I can do this on my own,” Harry said, tightening the straps on his bag, “or I’ll die trying – literally.”

 

Hermione, nor Dexter, looked amused.

 

Harry straightened up and shrugged his shoulders, “I have to go, I have to leave before they get here, you said I only have so much time left,” he turned to Hermione when he said this – he was finding it too hard to talk to Dexter.

 

“Yes, I did,” Hermione said. Her lip was shaking slightly, but it was enough for Harry to notice, “there’s got to be some way to reason with them-.”

 

“You would know, if anyone,” Harry said slowly, taking a shuddering breath, “and you haven’t mentioned anything, so I’m going to assume there isn’t.”

 

Hermione looked down at her feet, almost like she was disappointed in herself, the same way she used to be whenever she got an answer wrong in class.

 

Harry finally turned to look at Dexter, “I need to talk to you.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

Harry pulled Dexter into a separate room because he didn’t think he could say everything he needed to say in front of a disappointed and heart-broken looking Hermione.

 

“I just want to say…thanks,” Harry muttered, looking at a corner in the room.

 

“I was originally meant to kill you,” Harry continued, “you were going to be just another job on my list – one that I was going to get a big amount of cash for, by the way,” he laughed, “you were extremely difficult to catch…”

 

Dexter shook his head, “you didn’t seem to have too much difficulty.”

 

“There was more than you could ever know,” Harry laughed, his eyes were starting to get teary and he hated that – he missed the day when emotions were hard to come by.

 

“You don’t need to explain anything to me, Harry,” Dexter said, sitting down on one of the lounges in the room and forcing Harry to sit next to him, bag and all.

 

“I do-.”

 

“No,” Dexter said, shaking his head, “I know how you feel about me, I know how hard this is for you – hell, I know how hard this is for me – you don’t need to do some big goodbye speech.”

 

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, something that looked massively familiar to Harry.

 

Harry hadn’t wanted to say anything, he had wanted Dexter to find it by himself, he’d even stuck it in a place where he had thought Dexter wouldn’t find it.

 

He’d written Dexter a letter.

 

“I know everything you feel for me and everything that happened, you don’t need to tell me twice.”

 

Harry practically launched himself onto the other man and kissed him. Passionately but it had to be short – Harry felt too antsy to stay around longer than he needed to.

 

“Please,” Harry said, his voice shaking, “don’t forget about me.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

 

 

(***)

 

 

He was in a forest, he was alone and afraid, it seemed that what had happened in his dream was more than just a dream.

 

It was dark and he was getting bitten by all different types of bugs, the blood on his leg had now dried and crusted, Harry, in his anxious state, was picking it off, not caring that some of his pickings were now leading to sores.

 

He hadn’t heard anyone moving behind him, not for a couple of hours, he hadn’t seen anyone walking towards where he hid, for now, he felt safe. But he couldn’t rest, he didn’t even feel tired despite not having slept for over twenty-four hours.

 

Harry didn’t know what his next move was going to be, he had no idea how he was going to get out of this mess, but he had hope. There were so many more things he had to see, he had to do – he couldn’t die just yet, not when his life was just starting to begin.

 

He might have to cut out the killing, he might have to hide for several years, but that didn’t matter – he could get out of this sticky situation if he just tried hard enough – he’d gotten out of worse.

 

He wasn’t going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys, this is where I leave it up to you. 
> 
> I've left this purposely for the sake of a possible sequel, whether or not it gets written depends on just how much you want it. 
> 
> I'm sorry that this fic took so long to write, so long to complete - I hope you all enjoyed what I wrote, even if you weren't here from the very beginning and even those who gave up on the fic, I hope you enjoyed the parts you read. 
> 
> I hope to see you guys at another fic soon!
> 
> If you guys want to keep in contact with me, feel free to message me and I'm more than happy to give contact details - more than happy to make new friends. 
> 
> Happy reading!


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